


Brothers in Arms

by TheMidnightOwl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sexual Tension, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2017-12-07 14:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 70,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMidnightOwl/pseuds/TheMidnightOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After shifting Sam's insanity in to his own head, Castiel thought the whispers he heard were just a product of his madness.  But now his brother, Lucifer, is mysteriously back, and has made Castiel his priority.  This time, however, the Devil's charm may actually be working on his desperate mind, and he makes the mistake of listening.  Rated M for future chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel had always marveled at hospitals.  He had watched them grow from the shanties of faith healers and ancient acupuncture to small civilizations within grand buildings, the humans’ understanding of the ways of his Father almost threatening to undo His will and His plan.  He had watched their knowledge of illnesses of the mind go from thinking them the work of the Devil or possessions to the true nature of their need for help.  He was thankful that he had taken on Sam Winchester’s instability during a time of obsession with curing mental illness.  He knew he wasn’t sick – actually, he felt better than he had before taking on Sam’s burdens – but the humans saw him as such, not knowing any better, and gave him asylum where the Winchesters couldn’t.

He did not hate the Winchesters for leaving him at the hospital.  He had heard their conversation as they left after that night, and he agreed with them.  They could not afford to watch him every second of every day, nor did he want them to have to.  He had considered himself their guardian for the longest time, and he had failed him; he did not think anything they could do now would protect him from what would be coming for him.  The fact was they could not protect him, but within these walls he was safe.  And the demon Meg was determined to keep him all to herself for her own safety.  He did not mind her using him; he was using her, too.  She was strong, she was smart, and she was determined to have an angel up her sleeve. 

He enjoyed the time allotted to him to spend outside, especially on days as gorgeous as this.  Despite his distance from Heaven, he felt closest to God on these warm, sunny days, watching the bees go about their simple existence in silent fascination and almost envy.  Such obedient little soldiers, pollenating flowers and producing honey for their queen, never questioning, never objecting, never rebelling, never needing anything else.  Their individual and free thought, if they had any, said to follow their instincts and the commands of their queen.  Sometimes it made him sad.  Most of the time, though, it helped him feel closer to his Father again.

Sam’s insanity translated as a freedom of mind for him.  At first it was paralyzing, the hallucinations of his fallen brother, the visions and sensations of Hell all around him, he thought the weight of it all would kill him.  But when the fog cleared, and he could breathe again, he discovered the taste of the air, the sweet relief of oxygen breathing life forms find every day.  He could form his own thoughts and not be crushed by guilt or regret for thinking them.  He was free.  And freedom and insanity were equals in the mind of angels.  On occasion one of those hallucinations bled through, and he would hear his trapped brothers’ voices or see the fires of Hell, but they passed quickly once he found something else to focus on.  With his mind suddenly able to focus on whatever he willed it to so easily, that was hardly difficult.

_“Castiel,”_ called the voice of his older brother.  He ignored it and focused on the bees making their way from flower to flower in no particular order.  It was a rare occasion that he had more than one hallucination on the same day now, but this was the second time today he heard Lucifer calling his name.  He had thought back to the fate of his brothers more and more now that his only company was the bees and his thoughts, and the demon Meg when she was in a talkative mood.  Despite knowing it was for the greater good, that it had saved humanity and his friends, he still felt a sense of tragedy at watching Michael and Lucifer plummet in to the fallen’s cage in the depths of Hell, likely for all of eternity.  There was no way to rescue Michael without risking springing Lucifer as well.  Part of Sam’s memories from Hell included Lucifer raving in frustration about the plans he had for God after he eradicated the “sickness” of mankind while he mercilessly tortured Sam’s soul.  He did not want those plans to come to light. 

Castiel had stopped denying to himself that he had missed Lucifer, now that his mind was clear and unfiltered.  Nearly every angel secretly missed Heaven’s most cherished archangel, though none of them would admit it anymore.  Lucifer’s beauty had been the very essence of the multidimensional realm, and the lower angels like him had often mused that Lucifer must be more beautiful than God.  None of them had ever seen their Father, and could not imagine anyone more beautiful than Lucifer.  And when Lucifer had been cast in to the pit, Heaven seemed less luminescent, less beautiful, and less whole.  He was the embodiment of perfection, and if they could lose him to corruption, they could lose anything.

They had met once or twice when Castiel was younger.  Lucifer hadn’t remembered, but Castiel had.  The older had given him much wisdom and shown him useful fighting tips.  To this day he still thought to those words when fighting or following through with an order, even after meeting Dean and Sam.  Yes, Castiel had missed his brother, but his brother had never really come back.  The Lucifer that he knew died at some point in the pit.  What emerged with his same wings was a tainted, twisted echo of that former beauty.

He wished the voice would leave him alone.  Not because he feared or hated his brother, but because the false voice tugged at his heart.  It was the voice of the vessel he had used before Sam consented; Nick was the name Sam’s memory offered for the poor lost soul.  But it made sense why Sam’s tormented psyche would hear that voice and not the liquid mercury of Lucifer’s true vocals.  That was the only voice Sam had ever known the Devil to have, minus his own talking to him through a mirror. 

Lucifer had not been kind to the human; that much was apparent.  After their meeting in Detroit, when Sam allowed the Devil entrance, Lucifer had killed Nick and snuffed out his soul.  An angel could tell by touching the corpse of the deceased whether they had gained passage to Heaven or been condemned to Hell; when Castiel had touched Nick, he felt nothing, only a cold, empty shell.  It was the most horrifying experience of his 4,000 years. 

Sam’s memories had proven very useful in answering some of his questions about Lucifer’s actions, and perhaps made his condition more tolerable.  His condition was only borrowed; therefore the memories would not be personalized.  In a weird sense, it was a part of Sam’s mind existing within his own.  The most tortured part, nonetheless, but he did not mind.  He deserved it after all he had done: dealing with demons, being so naïve as to accidently free the Leviathans from their eternal damnation, having the audacity to challenge God’s decision to lock them away.  Sam Winchester had only ever strived for good and peace; he had not deserved the torture he received for his sacrifices.  Castiel took them it in full because he knew he deserved no better.

But here, in the hospital, under the care of the humans and the watchful eye of Meg, perhaps he could work towards redeeming himself.  In this state he was not completely free of the guilt, just dissociated from it.  So perhaps he could work towards a useful state of being while no longer needing to carry that around with him.  He liked the idea of it, though not so much the idea of getting involved with conflicts anymore.  But that was Sam and Dean’s lifestyle, and he did not want to lose his friends.  Hopefully eventually he would stop being so sensitive to the idea of having to fight again.  Until then he would help them in whatever ways he could without having to smite anything.

Meg tapped his shoulder to get his attention.  She had assumed the role of his overseeing nurse, and did not allow most of the other orderlies to see to him.  She took responsibility for him in all forms, from bringing him his meals and medications to chaperoning him throughout the hospital and its grounds.  “Hospital’s shutting its doors for the night,” she said with slight condescension in her tone.  She always sounded like that.  “Time to head in.”  He nodded solemnly, never too thrilled to have to leave his careful observation of the bees.  He said a silent goodbye to the busy insects, and then they were in his room.

“I can’t figure you out, Cas,” she says as he stares out the window, “you want to appear as human and insane as the rest of these drooling morons, and yet you refuse to use your legs.  You’re gonna get noticed one of these days.  Maybe not by one of the other patients – who would believe them? – But by someone.  And all it takes is one person rambling about their day for a demon or something worse to find out we’re harboring an angel here.”

He did not respond, only watched the sun glinting through the leaves as it gradually set.  He did wish to remain human in the eyes of the hospital staff, but impatience and force of habit had him electing to fly instead of walk.  And he knew she was only mocking him.  Between the two of them, nothing would be hurting him.  He was still an angel, still powerful enough to eliminate any threat to himself or to her.  He did what he wanted, and avoided what he didn’t.  He didn’t want to walk.  So he didn’t walk. 

Night fell quickly.  He hadn’t moved from his spot leaning against the windowsill and watching the change of light since he had come inside.  Once the moon was high in the sky, he opted to lie down and observe from a less harsh angle.  He still didn’t sleep.  Ever since he had woken up from the coma induced by shifting Sam’s trauma into himself, he had been awake every moment.  He could go anywhere he chose during lights out; locked doors meant nothing to him.  But he didn’t.  He stayed in his room and watched the stars through his window.  It was relaxing, and helped him to think.  He liked thinking.  The orders of his superiors had been his psyche for his entire existence.  Now his mind was whatever he chose it to be.  He thought a lot.  He thought about everything.  Some humans drove themselves mad overthinking.  He was already mad, so he supposed he had nothing to worry about.  He welcomed the feeling that insight and knowledge gave him.

Tonight was different though.  He wasn’t thinking about the routine of the bees or the patterns within the fibers of plants.  He was thinking about his brothers again, and about Sam and Dean.  He was thinking about all they had done together, throwing out the rule book and altering God’s plan.  He was thinking about his first encounter with Lucifer in nearly 3,500 years.  How his brother had asked him to join him, and he refused without a second thought.  Heaven’s obedient soldier, who had prepared for that meeting since the first seal was broken.  Had he truly been as convicted as he thought he was?  He wasn’t sure anymore.  He would say no again in a heartbeat, but lately he had been wondering just how sure he had been of his answer at the time.  So full of doubt was the young, freshly fallen angel.  Saying yes to Lucifer would have meant regaining the command he craved, but it would have also meant the death of the only beings that had stood with him.  They later stood against him, but he understood why now.  Dean was right, and he should have listened. 

For the first time, his brain hurt.  So many conflicting thoughts and actions, so many regrets and poor decisions, but what else was an angel who had been given the gift of free thought to do, when he hadn’t been taught how to use it?  He had only done what he thought to be right, which is exactly what Dean had told him to do.  Defeating Raphael was the only way to ensure that the path they had set for the Earth would remain on course.  He needed to be stronger if he wished to beat Raphael.  Dean had objected to his method without even trying to understand why or suggest a better solution.  He had received contradicting orders from the one whom he modeled his behavior after. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose.  Dean was not to blame for his actions.  He was.

He needed some air. 

 

He didn’t like that those memories were becoming painful again.  He enjoyed being able to look back on them free from the raw emotion they had formerly stirred in him.  It allowed him to reflect and learn from his mistakes without feeling so horrible.  It appeared they intended to haunt him and pull at his heart for the rest of his immortal life.

The New England forest he currently strode through was alive with the sounds of the night.  This time he had elected to walk part of the way to his destination.  He had observed the act of walking help many humans in clearing their heads from troubling thoughts, so he decided he would try it.  It was helping a little.  He used to come to this forest often during his days stationed on Earth.  It was his job to observe humanity without interfering, and report back when convenient.  He obeyed wholeheartedly, and was very good at picking up the little details the others in his garrison frequently overlooked.  But every now and again he found himself bored of humanity’s repetitive nature, and would retreat to a clearing on top of a mountain in the forests of what was now called New Hampshire to observe the other creations of his Father. 

The full moon overhead illuminated the shining surface of the familiar river as Castiel entered the clearing, memories of simpler times filling his mind.  He sat on a rock hanging over the rushing water and stared in to the distance, where the moonlight licked the tops of the trees of the neighboring mountains.  Crickets chirped all around him, singing their song to anyone who cared to listen.  He loved to listen.  The air was cool and the sound of crickets mixed with the babbling river, falling to rocks below a few meters to his right, effectively cleared his mind of the overwhelming emotions that he had unintentionally subjected himself to in his hospital room.  Here he felt close to his Maker once again, safe and cared for.

“God doesn’t care about you, Castiel,” came the voice of his brother.  This was different, this was too real, and it sounded like it came from behind him.  He turned and opened his eyes wide at the sight in front of him: Lucifer, back in the body of the human he had tortured so unjustly to get to Sam.  When he blinked they were no longer in the forest, but the building where they had first encountered each other during the apocalypse.  Lucifer had him pinned against the wall, right forearm pressed in to his neck, left hand holding his wrist against the cold brick. 

“In fact I don’t think he ever really did,” he continued, voice smooth and authoritative.  There was no harshness or mock in his tone, just his usual satiny charm.  “I don’t think he cares what the angels do to themselves, if they stand together as brothers in arms or slaughter each other by the dozen.  As long as he’s entertained by his little toys, he lets them do as they please.”  He looked Castiel dead in the eye, voice becoming impossibly soft.  “Me, I have always cared about my brothers, always loved them.  And always fought for the respect we deserve.”

“This isn’t real,” Castiel said, trying to ignore his brother’s existence. 

“No?” Lucifer released Castiel’s wrist to hold up an archangel’s blade.  He rested the silver blade against Castiel’s cheek.  “If I stabbed you with this, do you think it’d hurt?  Is the fear you feel real?  Does the Grace beneath this meat suit feel real?  Am I just your imagination, Castiel?  You know the difference between those hallucinations and reality.”

“How would you know of them if you weren’t one of them,” Castiel shot back.

Lucifer smiled.  “They were just the result of a few screws knocked loose in Sam’s noggin.  But an angel is connected to their vessel.  When he got out of Hell I was a little disappointed – I liked knowing that at least we were there together.  So when he got out I kept some tabs on him, watched him.  And imagine my surprise when I saw you, dear brother, take all that away from him.  I’ve got to admit, I’m impressed at just how much you’re willing to sacrifice for those cockroaches.”

Castiel looked the devil over.  Yes, he recognized the difference now between a hallucination and reality.  This felt pretty real.  “How are you here?” He asked through gritted teeth.

“The careful and concise manipulation of some suicidal teenager in a small town,” he answered, not trying to hide the smile in his voice.  “Promise someone you’ll save them from the disease that won’t stop nagging them and they’ll do anything you ask.  She was very compliant for a very small price.  I almost wish I could have kept her.”

“What did you do to her,” Castiel growled.

“It doesn’t matter, she was just a pawn.  I know you’ve always been so keen on the little details but try to see that there’s a bigger picture here.  Heaven’s a mess.  The Earth’s a mess.  I’m going to fix it.  And I could really use your help, brother.”

“I will never join you,” Castiel spat, “I thought you would have learned that the last time we were here.”

Lucifer clenched his jaw and shifted his weight, then shocked Castiel by releasing him and backing away.  “The last time we were here, circumstances were different.  You were in full-fledged rebellion mode, but had already chosen the side of the humans.  There is no getting through to an angel so attached to a cause; that I learned from Michael many eons ago.  But now you’re avoiding conflict.  You’ve let the weight of your mistakes crush and defeat you, Castiel.  Everything’s a mess, but none of it is your fault.  You have only ever tried to do what you thought was right.  That’s the reason you rebelled, that’s the reason you stood up to Raphael, that’s the reason you feel the need to redeem yourself in the eyes of your little pet.  Our interests are still the same.  I want Heaven to be free of corruption, and the Earth to be cleansed.  And I know you do too.”

“I am nothing like you,” Castiel growled.

“Aren’t you?”  Lucifer’s formally soft eyes glinted with mischief.  “Our Father had it written that the apocalypse would one day happen.  He prepared you all for what roles you would play come Judgment Day, got you ready for how to handle my return.  It was God’s plan.  But you couldn’t go through with it.  You knew it was wrong, and you begged your brothers to listen to you.  But they tried to kill you, didn’t they?  So you stood alone and fell for what you knew was right.  He took a step closer.  “Tell me, dear brother; any of that sound familiar?”

A heavy silence hung in the air as they studied each other.  Castiel refused to look him in the eye, but had also remained pressed against the wall, as if finding some comfort in the unrelenting brick.  He was impossibly still, his thoughts stopping him from even breathing.  He had questions he feared the answers to, had doubts stirred by the devil’s convincing words, which he had tried not to even listen to.  He felt so exposed.  Were his walls coming down?

The Morningstar watched his younger brother with fascination.  He saw the silent thoughts stirring behind the impossible sapphire eyes of his vessel.  The storm in the younger angel’s mind was very clearly debilitating in its severity, and he tried not to make any sudden movements in fear of snapping his composure.  He had had his demons keep tabs on the Winchesters and their favorite angel, and one consistency throughout their reports was Castiel’s unpredictable nature when he became emotional.  Especially now with his mental state so fragile, he was careful not to push him too hard.  He approached the younger slowly, only taking another step when he was certain it would not frighten the angel that had pinned himself to the wall.

Castiel started when he felt Lucifer’s hand taking his wrist, not in threat or show of power, but almost compassionately, as if to ground him.  Their eyes met, and Castiel suddenly felt so small under the gaze of Heaven’s most beautiful child.  “It’s been a while since you’ve felt like yourself, hasn’t it, Castiel?”  Lucifer asked soothingly.  “I’m guessing it’s been years since you’ve even looked at your wings.  You’re an angel, brother, you should not be living the way you are, in a run down, filthy hospital for the lowest of God’s flawed creations.”  Lucifer’s free hand found Cas’s shoulder, resting gently on the loose trench coat.  “You’re an angel of Heaven, and one of the few who has ever dared stand up for what they believe.  That makes you more beautiful than any of those zombie-minded soldiers.”  He leaned in close to Castiel, who was now trembling from his incredulous state.  “Show me your true beauty, Castiel.”

Lucifer pulled away from the wall so it would not hurt his wings when they manifested.  Cas had not even commanded they do so; they appeared at the request of the devil still holding his wrist and shoulder with a feather-light touch.  The midnight wings spread to their full span, stretching the tendons to flay the feathers in a desperate manner.  Lucifer eyed them in awe and admiration.  Black wings were not common, not even in higher ranking angels.  Most had wing colors spanning from dusty sand to a chestnut brown, much like a hawk’s.  Castiel’s wings were simply stunning, the pitch black feathers, tipped a nighttime blue at the ends, larger than his vessel’s body and so much more impressive.  Finally, the appendages relaxed and Castiel folded them against his back.  Slowly, so as not to alarm him, Lucifer released his shoulder to stroke the onyx feathers, his touch uncharacteristically calming.  The fingers of his right hand remained wrapped slackly around Castiel’s wrist. 

How long had it been since someone had touched his wings?  Thousands of years, at least.  Without realizing, Castiel laid his head against the crook of the Morningstar’s shoulder, encouraging the touch.  The last time he could remember anyone stroking his wing with any sort of compassion was with Balthazar, when they were both very young.  Castiel had failed a training exercise, and Balthazar had laid a hand on his wing in a show of encouragement and friendship.  Castiel had killed him nearly a year ago.  The memory stung.

“I didn’t know Balthazar was dead,” Lucifer mused softly.

“I killed him,” Castiel said monotonously, “he was my best friend, and I murdered him.”  Lucifer rested his chin on his brother’s head, whom he could feel was fighting tears.  He increased the area of his strokes.  “I’m worse than you, aren’t I?”

“No such thing,” Lucifer smiled.  “You made a few bad calls.  So did I immediately after rebelling.  You spent your whole life taking orders, following the commands of others, and suddenly you had to make your own decisions.  Of course you were going to mess up a few times.”

“Have you seen what I’ve done?”

“Of course, what else is there to do in the pit besides watch the chaos unfold up above?  So you released a race of ancient monsters, big deal.  If the Winchesters won’t let you live that down, don’t let them live down starting the freaking apocalypse.”

“They’re only human,” Castiel tensed, “I’m an angel.  I should know better.”

“Yes, you are an angel,” Lucifer squeezed Castiel’s wing, “you’re also free.  Is this what you want to do with your freedom?  Rot away in some human hospital in some pinprick on a map?  Or do you want to redeem yourself and return your grace to its former shine?  What’s the point of breaking free of those bonds if you’re not going to do something with it anymore?”

Castiel lifted his head to look the devil in the eye.  “What do you propose I do?”

Lucifer smiled inwardly.  It worked; he was listening, even asking for direction.  He hadn’t expected that to come so quickly.  “I’m not going to tell you how to utilize your freedom, Castiel, that’s not the point of freedom.  But if I may make a suggestion, try attacking your guilt head on instead of trying to avoid it.”  Castiel looked confused.  He couldn’t help but giggle at the angel’s inability to understand speaking in tongues.  “Whatever’s causing all of those conflicting emotions, take care of it so they stop.”

Lowering his gaze, Castiel returned his head to its place against the Morningstar’s shoulder.  He could feel his brother’s Grace burning hot under the thin membrane of his vessel, and wanted so desperately to use it to fix himself.  But of course, an angel fully exposing their Grace was more dangerous than a human exposing their soul.  That much raw energy could blow a hole in the universe, and a Grace had no defenses; a prick from a pin could severely wound it.

“We’ve missed you, Lucifer,” Castiel whispered without thinking. 

“I’ve missed you all, too.”  Suddenly Cas felt a Heavenly warmth washing over his human form, then seep through the thin skin and in to his essence, rushing up to his head before settling.  He inhaled sharply at how much _better_ he felt.  He had thought taking on Sam’s insanity had felt good, but that was only in comparison to how horrible he had felt for the past two years.  Now he realized how low a definition of “good” that had been.  He felt renewed, like his Grace had found a new spark.  He gripped Lucifer’s shirt for balance as the shock of it nearly forced him to his knees.

“There, that should get you back on your feet,” Lucifer cooed warmly, placing a feather-light kiss to the younger’s hair.

“What did you –”

“You wanted me to heal you, right?”  Lucifer lifted Castiel’s chin so he could look him in the eye.  “You only needed to ask.”

Castiel was grateful, and relieved.  His mind was more clear than ever and he felt a new sense of conviction to fix what he broke and get the Leviathan back where they belonged.  But he was instantly skeptical of the Devil’s intentions.  “If you think this will make me indebted to you –”

“I am capable of kindness,” the devil shot down immediately, volume rising only slightly, “I was kind to you when we met in Heaven, wasn’t I?”  Castiel’s eyes widened.  He did remember him.  “Consider it a gift in reminiscing of simpler times.” 

And then Lucifer was gone, leaving Castiel alone in the dank building where twice he had re-encountered his older brother.  So many thoughts rushing through his head, so many things he knew he needed to do, and so many wrongs he had to right on his part and the Winchesters’.  He only hoped Heaven would stop trying to kill him long enough to allow him to fix what he had broken.


	2. Chapter 2

The ride to the hospital had taken them almost a week.  Meg had called them the second Castiel had awoken, but they had been on the opposite end of the country, and ran in to some trouble on the way.  Dean had been wired the entire ride after he had called Meg again and demanded to talk to Cas.  When he left him in the psych ward, convincing himself it was for his own good, whatever was going on inside his head had crippled him, prevented him from saying or doing anything except screaming until he finally passed out.  Hearing him talk was relieving, but everything he said made Dean want to shoot something.  His mind was so far down the rabbit hole he had barely even recognized him.  And, just like everything that happened to the angel, he found a way to blame himself for it. 

 “We race all the way here and now, I don’t know, I can’t say I’m fired up to see what’s left of the guy,” Dean huffed as they made their way through the hospital.  First Sam as a resident here and now Cas, Dean hated this place.  It sent chills up his spine.

“You think he remembers at all?” Sam asked.

Dean breathed.  “That and I’m guessing whatever hell-baggage he lifted off of your plate.  It’s not gonna be pretty.  I mean you should have heard him on the phone.  He may have been talking but he wasn’t saying anything sensible.  Him taking on your cage-match scars, I’m guessing that broke his bank.”

“I just hope we can help him,” Sam sighed, a tang of guilt tightening his throat as he spoke.

“Hell, I hope he’s got enough sanity left to help _us,_ ” Dean said. 

“Hey, excuse me fellas, but it’s way past visiting hours,” a young attending nurse stopped them.  Sam recognized him from his stay.  He saw Meg come around the corner before she announced herself.

“It’s okay, Abel,” she called him off, arms crossed and weight balanced on her left leg.  Sam couldn’t remember how long he had stayed in this eerie building, everything had been off; he hadn’t even bothered to learn the man’s name.  “I’ve been expecting them.”  She eyed them both with a sense of importance.  “Hello boys.”  Cocking her eyebrows, she nodded towards the stairwell and led them up to Castiel’s room.  The same room Sam had stayed in.

They both attempted to hide their nerves as they approached the familiar door.  Dean had his tensed, serious look that Sam recognized as him bracing himself for something painful.  He chose to bury his emotions under a hunter’s intensity, something that fooled everyone but his brother.  Sam was more outwardly uncomfortable, the pallid white of the walls bringing back haunting memories of unbearable insomnia, physical agony, and Lucifer, peeling away the layers of his mind until all it was raw and throbbing behind his lost, sunken eyes. 

Castiel stood by his window, watching the moon like he did every night now.  He had felt the Winchesters’ presence since they had entered the town, smelled that familiar scent of gunpowder and musky deodorant since they pushed through the hospital doors.  Their heart rates were elevated, each for a different reason.  He wondered how many questions Dean would ask him about his sudden return to sanity and how quickly.  Their talk on the phone, he recalled, was likely less than relieving for the elder Winchester.  Dean called his name impatiently, and he picked up on the note of worry he was trying to hide.  Not sure how this meeting would go, he turned around to face them for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

“Hello Dean,” he greeted in his usual manner, holding eye contact and smiling fractionally.  Dean held his gaze, and Castiel could see how many thoughts and emotions were rushing around in his head, threatening to shatter his composure.  He elevated the temperature in the room to a more comfortable seventy-five degrees; the cost of oil had the hospital reserving it for daytime A/C use only, and the night was particularly chilly for the summer.  He turned his gaze to Sam, but kept his body facing Dean.  “Sam.”

“Hey Castiel,” Sam greeted warmly, genuinely pleased to see him doing so well, knowing all too well the other option for his condition.

“Well, look at you, walkin’ and talkin,” Dean chirped, always the one to lighten the mood.  It was a defense mechanism, especially in precarious situations like this.  It brought a smile to Castiel’s face.  Dean smiled back reservedly.  “That’s great, right?”

“Yes, it is,” Cas looked fleetingly to Meg, never entirely sure of what to say.  She was leaning against the door frame, watching in idle fascination as they reunited.  He locked eyes with the older of the brothers again. 

“How you feelin’?  I mean,” Dean fumbled over his words, trying to get it to sound right the first time, “you were in pretty bad shape.  Everything settled?”

“Yes, all of that has passed,” Cas assured him.

“Passed?”  Sam shifted his weight.  “Cas, what do you remember, exactly?”

“Everything,” Cas recapped all of his actions from the past two years, from working with Crowley to attempting to become God to releasing the Leviathans and taking on Sam’s burden, all with detached resolve.  Lucifer had helped him accept his mistakes.  Now he was focusing on correcting them instead of continuing to allow them to cripple him.

“Okay just hang on, Cas, let us catch up to you for a second,” Dean crossed the room to sit on the bed, stunned at how clearly Cas had just spoken. 

Sam pulled up the chair from the desk and sat in it backwards, eyes fixed on the angel.  “So, you’re saying you remember who you are – _what_ you are – and you’re... okay?  After taking on all of my crap?”

“Yes,” Castiel looked to Dean, most concerned about his reaction.  Dean was frozen, processing all of his thoughts, and likely going over Castiel’s words from their phone call while they drove to come see him.  Dean finally shook his head.

“Your head was _gone,_ man,” his tone was almost harsh, “when we talked on the phone you weren’t ‘okay,’ you were going on about bees and cats’ junk and something about a pinging sound waking you up.  You were so out in left field I’m pretty sure you were in the stands.”

“Well I wasn’t in any field, I assure you, but a chime-like sound did awaken me,” Cas kept his voice level, “and from your pause after I told you that I’m guessing something happened that night.”

Sam reached behind him and grabbed his duffel bag off the desk, holding it out to Castiel.  “That’s when we opened this,” he explained. 

Cas’s eyes lit up.  “Yes, that would do it,” he lifted the stone tablet gingerly from the bag, “every angel would have heard this being freed.”  He smiled down at the stone.  “If someone was going to free the Word from the vault of the Earth, it would end up being you two.”

“The Word?” Sam asked, “Is that what’s written on there?”

“Yes.  This is the handwriting of Metatron,” he noted idly.

 _“Metatron?”_ sam echoed mockingly, “you’re saying a Transformer wrote that?”

“That’s Megatron,” Dean mumbled in correction.

“What?” Sam looked at him accusingly.

“The transformer,” Dean repeated, “it’s Megatron."

Sam stopped.  “… _What?”_

“Me-ta-tron,” Castiel clarified, “he’s an angel, he’s the Scribe of God; he took down dictation when creation was being formed."

“Uh,” Sam tried to push Dean’s knowledge in to the back of his mind for later mocking purposes, “well, what’s it say then?”

“I don’t know, I can’t read it,” Castiel admitted, “It wasn’t meant for angels.”

“Okay, this sounds bad,” Meg piped up from behind them, “what are you two jackasses doing with the Word of God?”  She crossed the room.  “Let me see that thing.”

Dean stepped in front of her.  “Back off, Meg.”

“C’mon, it’s my ass too,” she argued.

“Back.  Off,” he said again.

“Dammit, enough of this ‘demons are second-class citizens, crap,” she shouted.

“Can we focus?” Castiel brought them back, and handed the tablet to Meg in a peace offering.  “The Word wasn’t meant for angels, and Metatron has been dead for eons, but there are still those who can read it.  The prophets.  If this has awoken, a prophet will be called to the desert to learn the Word of God.”

“A prophet?  So Chuck can read this?” Sam asked, pointing to the stone being examined by Meg.

“Yes, as long as you get to him before the angels.  If they find him and you they will confiscate them both and send Chuck to the desert, where he will remain until the Word is learned.”

“Alright, well, guess we better get a move on,” Dean clapped his hands together.  “You good to give us a lift?”

A familiar chill ran up the length of Castiel’s spine.  “It’s late,” he noted, “You two look tired from your trip.  Why don’t you get some rest and I will take you to him in the morning.”  Dean eyed him skeptically.  “Isn’t that one of those human things you always insist on being allotted?”  He asked innocently in response to Dean’s narrowed eyes.

“Yeah, sounds good.  I spotted a motel not too far from here.  Come get us in the morning,” Dean’s tone sounded nonchalant, but his eyes had remained fixed on the angel’s, voice heavy with cynicism.  Castiel only nodded, and followed them with his eyes as Meg walked out with them, shaking his head when Dean rather violently snatched the tablet out of her hands.

He turned his gaze to the moon again, trying to ignore the chill that just ran up his spine again.  He knew what it meant.  He knew who was trying to get in contact with him.  He wouldn’t budge.  Whatever influence his brother had had on him before, he would not allow it to happen again.  Lucifer had helped him, and he was grateful, but he was still weary of the devil’s intentions. 

 _“Castiel,”_ the Morningstar beckoned.  So he expected him to come on his own accord?  That would not happen.  Besides, it wasn’t as if he knew where to find him.  No, he watched the moon as he had for many nights now, letting himself be lost in its luminescent beauty.

He followed the sound of Lucifer’s voice before he even processed his flight.

 

“Your wonderment at the moon is no surprise,” Lucifer mused conversationally when Castiel appeared next to him.  Castiel’s head snapped to his right to stare at his brother, whose gaze was fixed on the orb in the sky.  “Ever wonder why you’ve felt so drawn to it since you woke up?” 

Castiel remained silent, just returned his gaze to the full moon overhead.  Lucifer let the silence between them hang for a moment more before he looked down to his brother’s eyes, wandering the surface of the sphere.  “It reminds you of me.”

Castiel scoffed.  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m not,” the devil smirked in spite of himself, “you’re attracted to how bright it is, shining so intensely and standing out from the stars around it.  It feels so cold, but it’s a good kind of cold, not one you’re uncomfortable with.”  Castiel met his gaze.  “Sound familiar?”

The younger angel said nothing, just searched his brother’s eyes for a bit.  “What do you want?” He asked finally.

“Just to talk,” Lucifer started circling his brother, much as he had during their first encounter two years ago.  It drew Castiel’s attention to their location: a small clearing in the woods somewhere in the state of Washington.  “Our last conversation went so well, I thought maybe we could pick up where we left off, try and build on it.  It’s been so long since I’ve had a brother.”

“You lost that right when you rebelled,” Castiel growled.

“Then that means you have too,” Lucifer pointed out calmly, “if we’ve both got no one, we may as well have no one together.”

“I have the Winchesters,” Castiel snapped with pride, “You have your demons.”

Lucifer leaned in closer, not breaking the rhythm of his strides, “Demons are foul.  I can’t stand the lot of them.  And the Winchesters, their species aside, are temporary.  Human lives are so fleeting, Castiel; they’re gone with the blink of an eye.  And with the Winchesters’ lifestyles, they could be gone tomorrow.”

“And then back again in two days,” Cas interjected with a bit of a smile.

Lucifer couldn’t help but laugh.  “That’s very true.  Death can’t seem to keep a solid hold on those two.  Though last time we chatted he found them entertaining enough to let it slide.  If Death wants to keep someone, not even God can resurrect them.  I think he finds their lives amusing.” 

Cas just narrowed his eyes, trying to read his brother through the small talk.  “How did you reclaim your old vessel?” he questioned.  “You didn’t just kill him, you ended him.  How can you have that body back?”

“Like you said, I ended him,” Lucifer answered, “this body is just an empty shell now, ready to be inhabited by anyone who picks it up.  It’s not perfect, I still have to be careful, but I made it stronger, able to hold me better.  I assumed trying to get back in to Sam Winchester would be a waste of time, and not the best way to try and talk to you.”

“You didn’t have to snuff him out like that,” Castiel hissed.  “He was an angel’s vessel.  Even someone subjected to you is promised entry in to Heaven.”

Lucifer stopped.  “Heaven was a mess, even before your smiting parade.  All that human wanted was to see his wife and daughter again.  Do you know what happened to them, Castiel?  God’s ‘plan’ was to have them murdered in their sleep.  They were in Heaven.  He wouldn’t see them there.  Not really.  I was in his head for a long time.  He was suicidal.  And after I reminded him that it was God who did that to them, he wanted nothing to do with Heaven.  So I gave him what he wanted.  I made sure he didn’t go to God’s corrupt kingdom.”

He hadn’t intended to hurt Castiel with his words.  But he had visibly shied at his rather insensitive mention of his slaughter up in Heaven.  Maybe everything else was passed him, but it was in their nature to mourn the loss of a brother or sister.  Not only had thousands been murdered in Heaven at once, but it was by Castiel’s hand.  He would likely never recover from that. 

Lucifer sighed.  “Maybe it wasn’t the best thing I’ve ever done.  But we all make poor decisions.”  Castiel tensed.  “Why are you still fighting me, brother?”

“Words are your predominate weapon of choice,” Castiel pointed out, “and you haven’t stopped talking.”

“Words are also a method of communication,” Lucifer reasoned, “a way of trying to connect with another being or strengthen a bond that already exists.”

“We have no existing bond,” Castiel sneered.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Lucifer began pacing again, a smirk spreading across his lips.  “An angel doesn’t let just anyone so close to his wings when they’re so vulnerable.”  Castiel’s gaze dropped.  “You trust me.  I’d say that’s some sort of bond.”

“You were manipulating me,” Cas denied.

“I was helping you,” Lucifer stopped in front of the younger and tilted his chin up, locking eyes with the stubborn angel.  “And you’re looking much better, I might add.”

“And I appreciate your assistance,” Castiel jerked away, “but it was unnecessary.  I am capable of handling myself.”  Castiel began walking away.

“I don’t doubt it,” Lucifer said honestly, “what I do doubt is your conviction.  You keep telling yourself that you no longer need your brothers, that you’re okay with losing them and losing Heaven because it’s worth it for the Winchesters.  But I can see right through you Castiel.  You miss the feeling of a shared grace.”

Castiel froze in his tracks before disappearing, taking himself to the Winchesters’ motel room and watching over them like he used to in secret, closing the blinds so the moonlight could not touch him.  He did not want to feel its soothing essence tonight. 


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel never had to take the Winchesters to Chuck.  His succeeding prophet, instead, found them.  Castiel did not mention to them that only one prophet could exist at a time, and therefore Chuck must be dead.  They did not need to hear that another friend had died when they had just gotten one back.  So he left it out.  The angels, of course, quickly found the new prophet, and thus the tablet.  Dean thought quickly on his feet when they arrived and banished them, but the sigil banished Castiel as well. 

“How considerate of him,” Lucifer chortled sarcastically, “he gets rid of the threat but also gets rid of his greatest asset.  He kind of treats you like shit, you know that?”

“It was necessary,” Castiel defended his friend, “Hester and Anais are strong and on a mission.  They will take the prophet to the desert by any means, even if that means killing the Winchesters.  I am not angry at Dean for the collateral.  I’ll be back to them shortly.”

“You seem to be their collateral quite often,” Lucifer pointed out.  “If you ask me they’re using you.”

“I didn’t ask you,” Castiel snapped coldly.  Lucifer just raised his hands in peace, pushing himself away from the wall he had been leaning against. 

“Alright, fine, I get it.”  He stood next to his younger brother, who was watching the dogs on the track the banishing sigil had landed him at.  “I’m not trying to stir up anything between you and the Winchesters.”

“Lying doesn’t suit you, Lucifer,” Castiel said, aware of the irony in the statement.

The devil laughed.  “There’s an interesting fact.  Alright fine, maybe I’m not so fond of your relationship with the little hairless apes.  But I do admire your loyalty, Castiel.  It’s a pretty rare quality nowadays, even in angels.  No matter what they do to you, you always back them, are always there for them, and refuse to give up on them, despite their mistakes and flaws.  That’s something that needs to exist in more places.  Perhaps I’m just jealous.”

Castiel couldn’t believe the words the devil had just spoken.  “…what did you just say?”

“Maybe I’m jealous of the loyalty you have for the Winchesters,” Lucifer repeated shamelessly.  “Maybe I miss having someone think of me as their brother.”  Castiel was speechless.  Lucifer laughed an airy laugh.  “I know, difficult to believe, isn’t it?  The fallen angel, the disappointment of the heavens, has feelings.”

“That’s not what I’m having trouble believing,” Castiel disagreed, “I’m having trouble believing that the angel who loathes humanity more than anything is jealous of two of them.”

“Well, who wouldn’t be jealous of the beings that you hold in such high affection,” Lucifer’s voice had dropped to a whisper in Castiel’s ear.  It caused him to shudder.  The Morningstar turned his attention to the sky.  “You should be good to go back to them,” he noted, “they’re on highway 94 north of Saint Cloud, Minnesota.  They just passed mile marker 79.” 

Castiel turned to look at his brother, who, for once, did not attempt to meet his gaze, only continued to stare at the large, fluffy clouds overhead.  Australia did always have nice skies.  It had been a while since either of them had been to this part of the world.  Part of him wanted to stay with the older archangel.  He fled the moment he had the thought.

 

The four of them worked hastily to angel-proof Rufus’ cabin.  Castiel felt heavy remorse as he painted the familiar windows, knowing that he was indirectly responsible for the death of the Winchesters’ father figure, Bobby, who was close friends with the former owner of this cabin.  He would give anything to give them back their friend.  He would give everything to undo his rash actions after killing Raphael.  But what was done was done, and all he could do about it now was try to redeem himself in Dean’s eyes and fix what he broke.  For now, that required hiding the prophet Kevin so he could read the Leviathan tablet.  They were all betting on it describing a method of killing the ancient beasts.

Dean remained with the prophet down in the basement while he translated the centuries old stone, leaving him, Sam, and Meg upstairs to essentially do nothing.  He sat and admired a glass deer, wondering why Rufus owned something so uncharacteristically charming.  Sam sat down near him, letting out an uncomfortable sigh.  Cas recognized that as a human way of saying they wanted to discuss something but were unsure of how to begin.

“You seem troubled,” Cas helped him along.

“Okay, uhm,” Sam angled his body to face Castiel, hands falling between his knees as he leaned forward, “right now I’m just wondering about you.”

“What about me?” Cas asked, confused.  He was fine now.  There shouldn’t have been anything to worry about.

“I think I was done for,” Sam explained, “when I was… sick.”  He paused sharply.  “…Do you see Lucifer?”

He realized he would have to word this very carefully if he did not want to alarm Sam.  He was strong, like his brother, but he could also be very paranoid, and he did not want them shifting their attention from the Leviathans to the mysteriously freed devil.  “I did at first,” Castiel decided on.  It wasn’t a lie.  “But that was… it was a projection of yours, sort of an aftertaste.  Then for a while I more sort of saw… well, everything, and as the days dragged on it just sort of dissipated.”

“Dissipated how?” Sam questioned.

Cas forced a weak smile.  “It’s funny, I was – I was done for, too, even before taking on your pain.  It’s strange to think about, but it actually sort of helped.  And when it settled, when the storm calmed and the fog lifted, I stayed okay, despite all that I did, all the lives and souls lost to my mistakes.  I’m okay.  And I’m happy that you’re okay, too.”

Sam smiled, relieved.  “I guess I’m just wondering how it just faded away for you.”

Castiel shrugged.  “I’m not human, nor was I in the cage at all.  Perhaps it had nothing to fuel it and it died.  Angels don’t have complex psyches like humans; we border on narrow-minded, actually.  I guess it just didn’t have anything to keep it going when it was within me.”

“Well, that’s good,” Sam visibly lit up now, and patted Castiel’s thigh.  “Listen, I know you never did anything but try to help.  I realize that, Cas, and I’m grateful.  We’re all grateful.”

Sam had no idea how much he had needed to hear that.  “Even Dean?”

“Dean doesn’t know how to say thanks,” Sam chuckled, “but I know he knows you were just doing the best with what you had.  Just like us.”

 _“Lying doesn’t suit you either, Castiel,”_ he heard the voice of his brother in the back of his mind.  How was he still managing to communicate with him like this?  His insanity had been healed and he had turned his angel radio off so Hester and Anais could not find them.  How was Lucifer still in his head?  _“How long until Dean notices something?”_

 _Please, Lucifer, not now,_ he begged, just needing some time with the friends he felt indebted to.

 _“You’re not indebted to them, Castiel,_ came Lucifer’s voice in response to his thoughts, _“Just know that.  You don’t serve anyone.  You never served them, and you no longer serve Heaven.”_

 _Just leave me alone,_ Castiel growled in his mind, attempting to keep an undisturbed countenance for Sam.

 _“Our next chat can wait a little longer,”_ Lucifer decided, _“but I will be seeing you again.  Until then, I’d like to point out that your little demon friend is no longer in the room with you.”_

He wasn’t lying.  At some point during his and Sam’s conversation, Meg had slipped away.  He only hoped they wouldn’t regret losing track of her.  Sam followed his eyes to where Meg had formerly been standing.

“Where’s Meg?” He wondered aloud.

“I’m not sure,” Cas said.  He saw the concern on Sam’s face as he got up and grabbed some chalk.  “What are you doing?”

“Meg has a tendency to screw you over if it means keeping herself alive,” he explained as he drew the Devil’s trap in front of the door, “so if she thinks she’s lost the protection of an angel I can only imagine where she’ll go to better herself.  You’re not sick anymore, so you don’t need her.  She’s probably off making friends with a few demons that want to kill us.”

“You think she would do that?”  Castiel asked.

 _“She’s a demon, brother; I wouldn’t put it past her,”_ Lucifer commentated.

“She’s a demon, I wouldn’t put it past her,” Sam almost seemed to echo the devil’s words.  He brushed the chalk dust off his hands as he stood up, completed Devil’s trap waiting for Meg if she ever returned.  “I’m gonna go see if Kevin’s made any process translating the stone.”

With Sam gone downstairs, Castiel was yet again alone with his thoughts.  He could feel that chill washing over him again.  “I’m not done here, Lucifer,” he mumbled in to the air, “the Winchesters are still trying to evade my old garrison.  I leave them alone for a minute and they could be killed.”  Another chill ran up his spine.  He tried his own form of manipulation.  “I’d never forgive you if they died while I was away.”  The chill stopped halfway up his spine, numbing one of his vertebrae, before dissipating.  He awaited some sort of sarcastic remark from his brother, much like Dean would do after being shot down, but nothing came.  He felt nothing, not even that acute presence he always seemed to feel.  What he thought of Lucifer mattered to him.  Interesting.  He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but it could be potential leverage if his brother’s intentions proved bad.

Meg ended up returning, and was met with Dean’s ever-cynical interrogation.  She of course defended herself, and her story of only intending to get a few demons off their trail was strengthened by the demon blood on the knife she had stolen.  So, with a clenched jaw, Sam let her out of the trap, but he could tell how uneasy the brothers were.  He didn’t blame them.  But they would have bigger problems as soon as Hester followed the beacon left by Meg stabbing those demons back to the cabin.

The door of the cabin was ripped off its hinges, and Meg was expelled from the room.  A flutter of wings brought Hester, Anais, and a few others from Castiel’s former garrison in to the room.  “You took the prophet from us?” Hester was furious.  Castiel took a few steps towards her, singling himself out from the Winchesters.  If she was going to attack any of them, it was going to be him.  “You have fallen in every way imaginable,” she sneered at him in disgust.

“Please, Castiel,” Anais tried being diplomatic, “we have to follow the code.  Help us do our work.”  He offered Anais an apologetic fleeting glance, then turned back to Hester. 

“The prophet is staying with me,” Castiel challenged.

Hester glared at him.  “We don’t need his help, or his permission.”  She nodded to Anais, who disappeared quickly to retrieve Kevin.  “The Keeper goes to the desert tonight,” she declared coldly.

“He’s staying right here,” Castiel’s fists clenched and relaxed.  “This is my mess.  The Leviathan are here because of me.  That tablet will tell me how to fix what I broke, how to put them back where they belong.  I am doing this with the Winchesters.  And I need him for that.”

“Yeah,” Dean backed him up, “We’re actually trying to clean up one of your angel’s messes.  Just give us some time, okay?  We will take care of your prophet.”

She visibly tensed, becoming wrought with anger.  “Why should _we_ give _you_ anything?”  Her anger was fixated on Dean now; Cas fought the urge to attack.  “After everything you have taken from us?  The very touch of you corrupts.  When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell he was lost!”  Dean was silent, and Cas could see him beating himself up in his mind.  He didn’t like that.  She advanced Dean.  “For that, you’re going to pay.”

His knife slid down his sleeve an in to his hand.  With one quick leap, he tackled Hester to the ground, away from Dean.  Her knife was in her hand in an instant as she tried to fight him off.  She attempted to roll him off of her, stabbing at him, but he was stronger, and his vessel larger.  He subdued her quickly, sitting on her legs so she could not kick and wrestled the blade out of her hand, pinning her wrists above her head.  “There are so few of us left, sister,” he pleaded, “do not make me hurt you.”

She screamed at him, still fighting to get the upper hand.  One of the other angels with them, Peter, jumped to her aid and knocked Castiel off.  He spun to his feet, prepared to fight the both of them.  Peter lunged, and he evaded him quickly; he saw no use in harming an angel that was not armed.  Hester swung her fist at him, hitting his jaw, but he paid no mind to it.  When she swung again, he grabbed her clenched fingers, spun the both of them to dodge Peter’s next attack, and knocked her against the wall.  He threw the knife he had taken from her in to Peter’s leg to stop his advances, then held his own up to her throat.  “Please, sister,” he begged.  “Enough.”

“It will never end,” she hissed at him, “Heaven can never be at peace now.  You took everything from us.  And it’s all their fault.  You want the prophet?  You’ll have to kill me.”

“You call me fallen,” he pressed her harder against the wall as she continued to struggle, “you call me mad.  But look at yourself, Hester.  You were so beautiful.  Now your Grace is weakened.  Look what you’ve become.”

“Look what you made me,” she spat.  He felt her emerging from her vessel, a last ditch effort to get away.  Her leaving the vessel would blind and kill the Winchesters, and she knew it.  Pain in his eyes, he forced his blade through her chest before she could leave.  Her eyes and mouth opened in shock, and she screamed in agony before falling to the floor, the release of all the energy of her Grace leaving burns on the ground where her wings had been.  Sighing, he looked to his brothers, staring at her empty vessel in mourning.

“I am sorry, Peter,” he apologized for his brother’s injured leg, “but you must go.  The prophet is in my care, and I will look out for him.”  He helped Peter to his feet, and Anais crossed the room to hold him up.

“I’ll take him back to Heaven,” Anais promised, nodding towards the others in the room.  He looked at Castiel longingly.  I wish you’d come with us, though.  These are strange times, Cas.  We could really use you.”

He smiled at his brother.  Anais was younger than he, and had always looked up to him.  It was reliving that even after all he had done, the little one had not given up on him.  “I’m not part of the garrison anymore, Anais.  I’m sorry.  But you’ll be fine.  Better off, actually.”

Anais returned his older brother’s smile, and as the others brought Kevin home, he disappeared with Peter, both of them looking towards the sun rising through the dirty windows.  Castiel walked towards Sam and Dean, who were both looking at Kevin’s translation of the tablet.  Meg was gone again, but that was fine.  She was likely laying low.

“Here,” Sam cut in, pointing to the notebook with the pencil, “‘Leviathan cannot be slain, but by a bone of a righteous mortal, washed in the three bloods of the fallen.’”  The brothers exchanged looks before Sam continued to read.  “Um… it says we need to start with the blood of a fallen angel.”  They both looked at him now.  He smiled.

“Well, you know me,” he held up an empty glass vile and wrapped his fingers tightly around it, “always happy to bleed for the Winchesters.”  When he unwrapped his fingers to hand it to Dean, it was filled with his blood.

Dean examined it and sighed.  “So, this is it?  We’re back to hunting and bleeding together, like nothing happened?” he asked skeptically.

Castiel shrugged.  “Of course something happened.  And I don’t want us to forget.  I don’t think I ever will forget.  But I’d like to someday receive your forgiveness, if that’s okay.  And I’m gonna start by cleaning up the mess I’ve made.”  That presence was back again.  No chills like the Devil was calling to him, more like his hand on his wing again, assuring him that he was there and standing with him.  He was not opposed to it.

Dean’s countenance held concern and questions.  Of course he had questions, when did he not, but the concern puzzled Cas.  Was his conviction something to be concerned about?

“I’ll be off now,” he pitched, “try to find that bone for you.  Someone truly righteous will be difficult to find.  If this is going to work, we’ll need someone pure.”  He disappeared before Dean could find a way to get him alone to bombard him with questions.

 

Castiel did not land where he intended to.  Where he was aiming for a cemetery in Louisiana, he found himself in the buttresses of a cathedral somewhere in Europe.

“Germany,” came the voice of his brother, leaning against one of the massive structures, one leg crossed over the other, “Cologne Cathedral in Germany.”  Castiel looked to him in confusion.  He chuckled and pushed off the pillar to stand next to the younger.  “Like you were going to find a righteous mortal in America.  Don’t you remember how the country was founded?  Blood and violence and genocide.  Nothing pure living in that land anymore.”  He looked out at the city.  “That was a busy century for me.”

“There are plenty good souls in America,” Castiel argued.

“Good?  Oh yes many, I don’t get _all_ of them,” Lucifer laughed lightly, “but ‘good’ won’t cut it.  You need pure.  Leviathan are slippery little bastards.  The Winchesters will have one shot at this.  Better safe than sorry, right?”

“So you brought me to Germany?” Castiel tried joking back.  “Do you remember the twentieth century?”

Lucifer tilted his head back in laughter.  “Holocaust jokes are damning, Castiel, you’d better be careful.  Yes, I remember the twentieth century.  And the nineteenth.  No country’s history is free of blood.  Not even Switzerland.  I’m just not fond of the States.  And since the Winchesters are all nice and safe again, I thought we could talk away from them.”

“In the foundation of a church,” Castiel commented.

“It’s where these people go to feel close to God,” Lucifer shrugged, “where they go to find peace and direction.  I never could quite follow their justification for needing such grandiose structures to worship.  I think they say it’s God’s will but I know for a fact our Father doesn’t care either way, as long as they’re devout.  Still, they are gorgeous.”

“They deserve credit for their ability to create,” Castiel suggested.

“Their creations come at a cost,” Lucifer reminded him, “for everything they create they destroy something else to make it.  Houses and buildings might be impressive but is it worth the destruction of whole forests to attain them?  Man might be advanced but he’s not the only creature God created.  He does not respect his fellow creations.  How then, can he claim to love God so much, when he destroys everything he touches, including his fellow man?”

Castiel just clenched his jaw, not liking where the conversation had ended up, but also because he wasn’t sure he had such a concrete response anymore.  Defending humanity used to be so simple, so drilled in to his mind.  He wasn’t quite sure how to word his defense anymore.  “Ensuring the bone we have will work that’s… helpful.  Why are you helping us?”

“You,” Lucifer corrected, “I’m helping you, brother.  I’ll be honest with you, I don’t really care for the Winchesters.  Well, I don’t care much for Dean.  Sam is my vessel, my other half, so I’ll always care for him.  But he also rejected me and tried to manipulate me where I was always outright and honest with him so there’s a little spite there too.  But I’m proud of you.  You’re taking responsibility for your actions.  And I want to help you succeed in redemption.”

“Why?” Castiel was still skeptical.

“Because I couldn’t,” Lucifer admitted, and suddenly he stopped talking.  Castiel looked up at him, and noticed his eyes held a level of pain he had never seen before.  They stood like that for a few moments before Lucifer noticed his brother staring at him and cleared his thoughts with a shake of his head.  “I hurt my brothers by rebelling.  I hurt Michael by putting him in that situation.  It was God’s decision to have him beat me down, but I still blame myself.  Gabriel told me that all of this was ‘just a great big temper-tantrum,’ as he put it.  And I can see why he thought that.  I told you I had made mistakes, and I did.  I made the demons.  I murdered some of our brothers.  I dragged innocents down to Hell and tortured them because I wanted to.  And I never took responsibility for that.  It was God’s fault, I would say, he made me like this.  But I was free.  He was no longer in charge of me.  I did it all, and I blamed Him.  Humanity’s a mess, and I made it worse.  And I can’t take it back.  Why am I helping you, brother?”  He turned to look Castiel in the eye.  “Because I don’t want you to end up like me.”

“But you wanted me to join you,” Castiel pointed out.

“Join me, sure.  But never become me.  I could have taken care of you.  I could have made the pain of falling a little more tolerable.  But it didn’t surprise me when you refused, so determined to do what you thought was right.  The problem lies afterwards, when you’ve succeeded and don’t know what to do next.  You make a mess.  And Heaven abandons you.  They leave you broken and bleeding and on your own when they never taught you anything.  That makes them kind of assholes.  You’re falling in to the same trap I did, and I won’t let that happen to anyone else.”  He paused, and for a moment Castiel saw something that looked like sorrow swimming in his gray eyes.  “It’s too painful.”

Castiel tore his gaze away and looked out at the city in front of them.  He no longer understood his brother’s intentions.  He refused to believe that he was looking out for him, but could no longer bring himself to accuse him of anything malevolent, either.  The pain in his eyes had been too genuine.  Could Lucifer, Heaven’s fallen angel and the dictator of Hell, truly be capable of such compassion?

“So the bone of a righteous mortal?”  Castiel decided to get back to business, unsure of how to respond to his brother’s sentiment.

“Maternus of Cologne,” Lucifer held up a femur and smiled, flipping it around in the air as if it were a walking cane.  “Stole this straight out of the Church of St. John, ancient dirt and all.  Pretty well preserved, but calcium doesn’t exactly decay quickly.”

“Stealing from a Church is damnable, you know,” Castiel mocked.

Laughing again, Lucifer wrapped his right arm around his younger brother’s shoulders and placed the bone in his hands like a sword.  “It better be, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“I’m still having trouble understanding your intentions,” Castiel admitted as he examined the bone.

“Of course you are,” Lucifer gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, “you’ve been taught that I am evil, corrupt, and selfish.  I wouldn’t expect you to take to the truth easily.”  He rested his chin on Castiel’s head, much as he had that first night he was back, and lowered his voice to a soothing murmur.  “But you keep listening, and I am forever thankful.”

Castiel just nodded, acknowledging the Devil’s words but not giving them any meaning.  He wasn’t always coming back on his own accord, but he never immediately left, so that had to mean something, at least to the older.  He still was unsure just how much he trusted the Morningstar, despite how open he had just been with him, how vulnerable he had made himself.  No angel did that for just anyone, especially the Archangels.  They confided in no one but each other.  Lucifer had opened up to him, and he had liked it.  He wanted to trust him, but he remained ever skeptical.  He was not sure if it was Heaven or Dean to blame for his cynicism.  But if the Fallen could help, and was doing so willingly, he would not reject it.  He still had to redeem himself, if not to Heaven then to the Winchesters.  And he would.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had originally had chapters 4 and 5 as one long chapter, but decided that 5,000+ words was worthy of being two separate chapters. They're both written so the next one will be up soon. Unfortunately, having them split in two makes this chapter yet another filler one. Sorry about that. This should be the last time that happens since from here it's taking a more dramatic turn away from the canon instead of just slight differences. So hope you enjoy where it goes from here!

The blood of a fallen angel.  The blood of an alpha.  The blood of the leader of fallen humanity.  The three bloods of the fallen.  Sam poured the mixture over the righteous bone, sharpened to a point at one end.  No incantation, no lightning or glowing when it was finished.  Just an old bone covered in blood.  The brothers eyed each other nervously, then looked to Castiel, who offered a supportive smile.  They were unsure.  They were always a little unsure.  But he was confident.  He had taken Crowley’s blood to Lucifer for authentication.  His gagging fit after tasting it ensured him it was definitely Crowley’s.  The Winchesters had acquired the blood of the alpha vampire.  He had learned not to doubt their capabilities.  The blood was good.  Maternus of Cologne had been a righteous man in his day.  Everything was perfect.  It wasn’t the weapon that worried him.  It was the adversary.

While Lucifer and him were having as close as a heart-to-heart as two fallen angels and former enemies could have, the Winchesters had scoped out Sucrocorp and found that Dick had cloned himself.  They were counting on him to identify the head Dick, a statement that got snickers from both of them.  He didn’t understand what was so funny about the situation.

_Castiel’s phone rang in his coat pocket.  He turned his attention away from his brother, who was lying on his side next to him in the grass, supported by his forearm, to retrieve it._

_“You have a cell phone?”  Lucifer asked, astounded._

_I acquired it when we were hiding from the angels,” he explained, staring at the display screen, “When I hid the Winchesters from all angels I was unable to find them as well.  Praying to me would have sent out a clear beacon to their location.  So I got a phone.”  He flipped the device open and greeted Dean in his usual manner.  Lucifer listened in on the conversation with keen ears.  Castiel’s eyes glimmered with concentration as Dean gave him the complicating news.  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he told his friend he would get back to them on the situation as he looked for a possible solution._

_Lucifer eyed him as he snapped the phone shut and returned it to his pocket.  “So… You know that’s hardly an issue, right?”_

_Castiel stared at him incredulously.  “Multiple copies of the same man, with no way to identify which one is their true leader, and only one shot at killing him.  That’s not an issue?”_

_“Not really,” Lucifer grinned at his brother’s bewildered expression.  “Cas, you had all of those things swimming around in your meat-suit for, what, two days?  Three?  That’s enough time to get to know them, don’t you think?  You’ll know which one’s the Dick you want,” he snickered like the Winchesters.  Castiel was still oblivious to the humor.  “One look and you’ll know.”  Castiel just looked down at his hands, resting between his crossed legs.  “How did you hide them from the angels so well, anyway?  An angel and his vessel are connected, and even I couldn’t find Sam Winchester.”_

_“Enochian warding sigils,” Castiel informed the older, “I carved them in to their ribs.”_

_Lucifer raised his eyebrows, impressed.  “Yep, that’d do it.  Creative thinking, by the way.”  He skipped a beat.  “A cell phone?  Seriously?”_

_Castiel chuckled.  “I know.”_

_Lucifer laughed softly.  “What a peculiar thing you are, brother.”_

“You sure you’re up to this, Cas?”  Dean asked after they appeared in the shed where Dean had been hiding the Impala.  “We’ve only got one shot.  We’re really counting on you here, man.”

Castiel met his eyes, a warm smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.  “Those things were writhing inside me for seventy two hours.  I know them, in a strange sort of way.  Well enough to know which one is the one that pushed through the wall, took me over, and killed me.”  He smiled fully now, tone light and joking.  “Do me a favor and aim for the jugular.”

Dean’s smile was lighthearted and a little bloodthirsty.  “You got it.” 

“So, can I ask the plan?”

Dean looked to his baby, still covered in a dirty tarp.  “Well, according to Crowley, Dick knows we’re coming.”  His eyes glimmered with mischief.  “So we’re gonna announce ourselves.  Big.”

The drive to Roman Enterprises was a few hours from Rufus’ cabin.  Dean insisted on Castiel coming with them instead of waiting.  The drive was mostly silent, save for Dean’s familiar, odd music, and maddeningly slow for the angel.  Even Meg, who was normally full of witty remarks and casual talk, just stared out the window at the forests rolling by.  The extra time allotted his mind to wander, and he could not peel it away from the previous day, the day he had spent almost exclusively with Lucifer.

 

_“When the Leviathan were inside me,” Castiel had decided it was his turn to be open.  Unlike the Winchesters, Lucifer seemed to care what his side of the story was, and was willing to listen.  “And all of those other evil souls, I changed.  I wasn’t myself anymore.  I’m not even sure if it was me talking and acting during those three days.  All I remember is the anger and the fear.”  He paused, trying to keep his voice from breaking.  “I was terrified.”_

_“Of course you were,” his brother looked up at him with concern and empathy, his voice consoling, “you were acting on your own.  That’s terrifying for any angel.  You were also desperate, and feared for the fate of Heaven… and for the Earth and your friends, consequently.  You knew your chosen method of control was risky and low, but you had no choice.  They used that against you once they were inside of you.  The humans forget that after you opened the portal in to Purgatory, it wasn’t just you inside that vessel.  If this were a court you’d be acquitted by reason of insanity.  But it’s not a court.”  Castiel shifted uncomfortably.  “It’s okay to be afraid, Castiel,” his brother’s voice was impossibly soothing, “and despite what you’ve been taught, by the Winchesters and by our brothers, it’s okay to make mistakes.  It’s what you do after you’ve made them that matters.  Fear doesn’t have to control you, and your mistakes do not have to define you.  They only can if you let them.  So, don’t let them destroy you.”_

_“They did destroy me,” Castiel’s lip curled in to a dark half smile at the memory of the Leviathan ripping his vessel apart and suffocating his already dimming Grace._

_“And I brought you back,” Lucifer said simply, rebalancing his weight a little, “so that you could fix it.”_

_“What?” Castiel looked down at him, holding his eyes.  The archangel lifted his eyebrows._

_“I brought you back,” Lucifer repeated, “who did you think did it?”_

_“I – I thought – God,” Castiel stumbled over his words, taken aback._

_Lucifer snorted.  “God doesn’t give second chances.  Not to us, anyway.  I know it’s a bit difficult to wrap your head around – you were just a fledgling when I was cast down to Hell – but I have always been there for my brothers.  And I always will be.”  He waited until Castiel met his eyes again to continue his thought, grey eyes drilling in to impossibly blue ones.  “I’ll always be there for you, Castiel.”_

“Cas, hey,” Castiel snapped out of his memories at the sound of Dean calling him.  “Come outta la-la land for a sec,” Dean teased, “need your head on this.”

“Yes,” Castiel gave him his full attention.

_“He’s just jealous ‘cause you weren’t thinking about him for once,”_ the Devil taunted in Cas’s mind.

_“That’s inappropriate,”_ Castiel growled, _“and hardly accurate.  I’m not always thinking of Dean.”_

_“Uh, beg to differ,”_ the Devil badgered, a smile prevalent in the voice that wasn’t even there, _“I’ve been your bunk-buddy upstairs for quite a while, ever since you stumbled naked out of those woods, actually.  If you’re not beating the crap out of yourself you’re thinking about your little human pet in some shape or form.  I’ve been waiting for the thoughts to get dirty ‘cause what’s the point otherwise.”_

“Yo!  Cas!”  Dean snapped.  “Where’s your head at, man?”

“I’m sorry,” Cas apologized, trying to put his brother on mute, “I’m just… thinking.”

“Well if it ain’t about boning some Dick it doesn’t matter right now.”  Sam burst in to laughter in the passenger seat, covering his eyes with his hand.  Cas was, once again, oblivious to the humor.

_“It’s a sexual innuendo,”_ Lucifer explained matter-of-factly.  _“Dean’s being a smartass.”_   Castiel giggled at his brother’s dry tone.

Dean glanced at him through the rearview mirror with a grin, impressed that he understood the innuendo.  Good for him.  Maybe Meg had explained the birds and the bees to him during his time in the hospital.  “Just tell me you’re good on the plan.”

“Very,” Cas assured him.  “How long until we arrive?”

“That depends on how quickly Dean decides to stop driving like an old lady,” berated with a laugh.

“Coming from the guy who always drives under the speed limit,” Dean slapped his brother’s hands away from the wheel, trying to rouse him.  Pushing his foot harder on the gas pedal, Castiel felt the machine roar to life around him.  The Impala purred happily as her speedometer passed well over the 45 mile-per-hour speed limit on the road they were taking.  50.  60.  75.  Dean was not holding back, pushing it further, and the Impala seemed to respond to his recklessness. Castiel imagined that if the Impala were human, she’d be a greater daredevil than Dean.  But it was ridiculous to assign personalities to inanimate objects.

_“Pretty sure Dean would smack you if he heard you insulting his precious car like that,”_ Lucifer mocked.

_“Pretty sure I’m going to smack you if you don’t start shutting up soon,”_ Castiel growled, becoming agitated at the Devil’s constant commentary.  _“Are not our almost daily meet ups enough?  When the Winchesters need me, I need to be able to concentrate.”_

_“Chill out, Castiel,”_ Lucifer responded, _“I’m bored and you’re in a car driving to a hunt.  What the hell else is there for either of us to do?”_

Castiel stopped engaging his persistent brother.  He still was weary of his ability to talk to him telepathically.  It wasn’t angel radio, it wasn’t even frequencies; it was some sort of psychic connection.  He didn’t like it.  He liked the fact that he could do it back even less.

 

Meg had successfully bought them time with the security detail around the building, at the expense of the Impala’s paint job.  Dean didn’t like having to tell her to crash his baby into the Sucrocorp sign.  But it distracted the Chompers which was what they needed.  While Sam went to look for Kevin, Dean and Cas searched for the proper fake Dick.  Thus far every one they had encountered was not the one they wanted.

Castiel stopped in the hallway, trying to feel the building around him.  Leviathan had no energy signatures to read, seeing as their bodies weren’t controlled by energy like animals or pure light energy like angels.  They were ancient; they existed of matter but not energy, hence their leaking of black liquid when they were injured.  No energy forms held their matter together.  So instead of searching for energy, he was searching for a lack of it, which would take a little more concentration.  At least Lucifer had left him alone after he stopped engaging him.

“The laboratory,” Castiel declared, sensing a significantly lower level of life energy in the bottom level.  Grabbing Dean’s wrist, he took them to the laboratory, where Dean did not hesitate a beat to decapitate the Leviathan working to package some dairy creamers. 

That was him, Cas was sure of it.  None of the others had given him the hollow feeling he now felt consumed with.  He hadn’t even turned to acknowledge the sound of carnage behind him yet, but Castiel didn’t need to see his face to know that the monster in front of him was the one that had ripped him in half.  His eyes narrowed.

Finally, Dick turned to face them, not at all perturbed by the dead Leviathan spilling black ooze from its neck on the floor.  “Little abrupt, but okay,” he jested, then met Castiel’s glare with a disturbingly friendly smile as Dean sheathed his machete.  “Castiel, good to see you again.  Thanks for the ride into paradise.”  He gave him only a glare in return.  Dean’s face was much more menacing, his hunter’s look of concentration darkening his features as he pulled out the bone covered in the three bloods of the fallen.  Dick looked impressed.  “And good on you, pulling that together.  A-plus.”

“Oh, you don’t think this will work, do ya?” Dean taunted, taking a step forward.  “You trust that demon?”

“You sure I’m even me, Dean?” Dick asked with a challenging smile.

“No,” Dean shook his head before nodding towards Castiel, whose features had only hardened further, “but he is.  See, here’s the thing when dealing with Crowley: he will _always…_ find a way to bone you.”  He wagged the bone back and forth tauntingly.

“This meeting’s over,” Dick declared, making for the door.  Castiel pushed past Dean and lunged for Dick, leaving himself open and vulnerable to his defense.  He let himself get thrown backwards as Dean plunged the false weapon in to Dick’s chest.  The pained grunt was only slightly genuine as it dug inside him, but he regained his composure quickly to pull the fake bone out of his sternum.  Holding it out in front of him, he snapped it in half in a display of power, his jaw tight and eyes locked on Dean.  “Did you really think you could trump me?” He growled, words dripping with venom.

“Honestly?”  Dean reached in to the other side of his jacket, revealing the real God weapon.  “No.” 

Dick had not heard Castiel approaching him.  Now he grabbed a fist full of the monster’s hair and pulled his head back in a way that would have been painful had he been human, pressing his free hand against his back so he could not try to run.  The sheer force of his grip was enough to snap anything else’s spine, but Leviathan were strong.  Without hesitating, Dean stabbed the blood-soaked bone through the side of Dick’s neck, hard enough to cause it to exit evenly on the other side.  “Figured we’d have to catch you off guard.” 

His screams of pain were genuine now, throat gurgling as the vile black liquid pooled in his stolen trachea.  Castiel only let go when he was sure the ancient beast was immobilized, and backed away.  He watched as his true face came out to snarl at Dean, who looked a little disturbed at the display.  Black and grey slime oozed out of the wounds, and suddenly the air began pulsating.  Castiel looked to Dean, having a staring contest with Dick, and noted the confusion and concern in his eyes as well.  The two exchanged looks, but did not move.  Dick was still moaning in pain, but judging from Dean’s continued staring he guessed he was smiling; that could not be good.  They each began backing away simultaneously as the pulsations grew more forceful and more rapid, until they all retreated back in to the Leviathan’s body.  With one last malicious laugh, Dick exploded in an eruption of that black mucus.

Castiel felt arms and wings wrap around him, and he was suddenly being pulled backwards.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what happened but somehow Chapter 5 disappeared so I'm reposting.

They landed in a flurry of wings and splaying limbs in a field somewhere across the state.  Castiel had tried to fight off his sudden attacker as they flew, causing them to land less than gracefully.  He picked himself up and prepared to fight, only to see Lucifer standing in front of him, looking rather shaken. 

“What happened?” Castiel asked, confused and slightly breathless.

“Why were you standing so close?” Lucifer demanded, “I told you after you came to me with the blood not to stand to close after you boned him.”

“Where are we?  Where’s Dean?” Castiel pressed his own questions instead.

“That bone has one mother of a kick, Castiel!  It’s a God weapon, you should know that!”  Lucifer brushed himself off.  His eyes were unusually concerned.

“Kick,” Castiel muttered to himself before puzzling it through, “Where’s Dean?  What’s happened to him?”  Lucifer didn’t answer, just stepped towards the younger and comfortingly took his fists, still balled and ready to fight.  Castiel just tensed even more.  “Lucifer, where’s Dean?”

“Where do you think?” was the only response he received. 

Castiel’s eyes widened in horror.  “Purgatory?”  Again, the Devil said nothing.  His jaw slacking, Castiel bowed his head as he tried to make sense of the situation.  “Why – why didn’t you save him, too?”

“I only had time to grab one of you,” Lucifer answered, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Bullshit!” Castiel cursed, violently tugging himself away from his brother, “You knew that bone had a kick!  You knew where it would send us!  You warned me but knew I had forgotten!  And you’re inside my head, always!  I can feel you!  You saw that Dean was standing too close, too, but you only grabbed me!”  He blocked his brother’s arms, trying to reach out to him, and took a swing at his face instead.  Lucifer ducked his jab, and continued only to dodge, not fight back, as Castiel attacked him.  Growing more and more enraged, Castiel summoned his angel blade to his hand and kicked the Devil to the ground.  Lucifer grabbed his wrist as it came down above his head, preventing the younger from stabbing him in the throat but not attempting to throw him off. 

“Castiel, just listen,” he tried to reason.

“Was this your intent all along?” Castiel growled, “Get me to trust and welcome you again so you could remove my human friends from the picture?  Sentence them to God-knows-what kind of fate in Purgatory since Hell couldn’t hold either of them?  So help me if Sam was taken in that blast wave too –”

“Sam is fine,” Lucifer assured him.

“Right, I forgot,” Castiel sneered, “you would never harm your vessel, not really.  But Dean’s just another human scum.  It doesn’t matter what he’s accomplished or what he means to me.  Just as long as he’s out of your way –”

“Castiel,” Lucifer pleaded, “I didn’t know, honestly.  You had asked that I leave you alone so I was.  I want you to trust me.  I peeked for a moment just to make sure everything was going okay.  When I checked he was already set to blow.  I had maybe a second.  That’s not even enough time for an angel to retrieve two people, and you know it.”  He reached up to cup his brother’s face with his free hand.  “I’m so sorry, Castiel.  But I couldn’t let you go to that place.  An angel can’t survive Purgatory.”

Castiel fought harder to plunge the blade in to the Morningstar’s throat, fighting back tears and choking down his sobs.  If an angel couldn’t survive, a human was hopeless.  It was his fault.  He should have told Dean.  Even if he wasn’t going to listen to his brother he should have at least passed on the warning.  Lucifer should have grabbed Dean instead; if either of them deserved punishment, it was him, not the Winchester.  The human had not devastated thousands to settle petty vendettas, had not smote half of Heaven because of an identity crisis.  Dean had only strived to save as many as possible from the nightmares of their world.  Castiel was guilty. 

The Morningstar only stroked his face soothingly, his touch impossibly soft and his body relaxed trapped beneath the younger, with the exception of the arm that strained to keep Castiel from killing him.  Each time he attempted to move Castiel’s free hand shocked him with a painful burst of rage-fueled electricity, so he stayed where he was, continuing to stroke his brother’s face supportively as he fought the tears that threatened to shatter his composure. 

“Bring him back,” Castiel finally commanded in a venomous growl that gave the elder chills.

“I can’t,” the devil whispered apologetically, “It’s Purgatory, Castiel.  Even I don’t have access to that place.”

“There are rumors,” Castiel hissed, “of gateways into Purgatory from Hell.”

“Myth,” Lucifer denied, “If any existed when I was first cast down I sealed them all.  The things in Purgatory did not belong in Hell; too easy for them to leak in to the physical realm.”

Seething, Castiel wrapped his fingers around the Devil’s throat, knowing well that angels did not need to breathe.  His nails dug in to the fragile skin until he felt blood tickling his fingertips.  “Bring him back,” he commanded again, becoming more and more desperate.

“There are other rumors,” Lucifer wheezed, air not necessary for his survival but important for talking, “that God built in a safety after creating Man should one of them end up in that horrid place.  He never wanted his favorite creation to be condemned to something like that.  Hell, sure, but not Purgatory.”  He had to struggle for breath to continue as Castiel’s grip tightened.  “Supposedly, a human can escape through a portal that will open for them if it gets near enough to it.”  He locked eyes with his emotional brother.  “He has a way out, Cas.  And he’s smart.  He’ll find it.”

With one last painful squeeze, Castiel released his brother’s throat, who kept his composure, and just waited with him some more while he struggled with his thoughts, not ceasing to stroke his cheek comfortingly.  As Castiel’s body began to slacken, the Morningstar lifted his neck and pulled his brother’s face down to place a feather-light kiss on his lips.  Castiel jerked away at the contact and shocked Lucifer again with enough voltage that a pained grunt slipped through his clenched teeth.  Seizing his opportunity, Castiel wretched his right arm from the Devil’s hold, coming close to snapping the bones, and struck him across the face.  Lucifer wrapped his legs around his brother’s then and, grabbing his brother’s wrists, flipped them, placing himself on top of the younger angel so he could stop the fighting.

“Peace, Castiel!” Lucifer implored, pinning his wrists above his head and trapping his legs between his knees.  “I don’t want to hurt you, brother.”

“Go ahead!” Castiel screamed, “Because I’m going to kill you!  You son of a bitch!”

“I’m sorry about Dean,” Lucifer dropped his voice again in an attempt to soothe the writhing mess below him, “but I would not fail one of my brothers.  Not again.”

“What could you possibly care for us,” Castiel spat, “you rebelled, despite the pleas of Michael and Gabriel not to.  You killed Gabriel when all he wanted was for the fighting to be over.  You condemned my friend to hell and haven’t even flinched at the thought because what is his kind to you but a pile of cockroaches.  What could you really care for your brothers when you seem so calm in the face of those you have murdered?”  His words stung worse than any poison.

“You’re right,” Lucifer conceded, “I killed Gabriel.  And I hardly hesitated choosing you over Dean.  But I haven’t forgiven myself for killing my baby brother, and I feel awful for what saving you has done to someone so close to you.”  Holding both of Castiel’s wrists with one hand, he used the other to hold his face still so he would look him in the eye.  “I hate hurting my brothers, Castiel.  And I especially hate seeing you in so much pain already.” 

He bent down further, releasing the younger’s face to hold his wrists more securely, and planted another gentle kiss on his lips.  Castiel did not fight as much this time; actually, his entire body went rigid at the contact, tensed but completely frozen.  Unsure of what this meant, Lucifer initiated another, and felt his brother’s lips part marginally.  He opened his mouth to reseal the kiss, and relaxed in to his brother’s form.  Castiel made to move again, and Lucifer thought he had made a mistake, but instead of attempting to hurt him, he dropped the knife, took the Devil’s cheeks in his hands, and pressed their mouths together with fervor.  Sitting up a bit, Castiel closed any remaining space between their bodies, moving one hand to wrap around Lucifer’s torso, fingers tightening around his shirt and catching some flesh.  The hand still cupping his face slid upwards to entangle the digits in his hair.  Lucifer accepted his desperation greedily.

Castiel was ravenous, his anger translating into a powerful, almost violent lust.  The fingers in his hair tightened around one clump and tugged hard, a few strands coming loose.  He didn’t mind.  He actually kind of enjoyed the slight stinging.  Sitting back on his heels, he pulled Castiel in to his lap and guided his legs around his hips.  A grin spread across his lips, his tongue slipping in to his brother’s hungry mouth, as the younger angel locked his legs around the Devil and dug his heels in to the small of his back.  He took fistfuls of Castiel’s trench coat before jerking it down and off his body, following suit with his jacket.  He was prepared to take his time with the buttons of his dress shirt, but Castiel growled and urged him on impatiently.  A chuckle rumbling deep in his throat, he wasted no more time and ripped the shirt clean off, the buttons popping off and flying who cared where. 

Castiel released his vice grip on the archangel’s hair long enough to push his over shirt off his shoulders and pull the remaining one up over his head, tossing it in the most convenient direction before reclaiming his lips.  Lucifer twisted the tie still hanging from Castiel’s neck around his arm before giving it a good tug and pulling their chests together.  Castiel was breathing heavily and clearly overwhelmed, but he was desperate for any sort of release.  The Devil would show him the most satisfying form of relief their Father had ever made.

Falling forward onto his knees, the Morningstar lifted Castiel and laid him on the forest floor again, the soft grass caressing the overstimulated skin of his back when Lucifer’s hands could no longer.  He pulled Castiel’s legs up so his back was angled up, his pelvis resting comfortably in the Devil’s lap, legs still wrapped securely around his waist.  He made quick work of his belt and pulled his slacks effortlessly off his legs, discarding the shoes and socks along with them in what was almost one swift motion.  His hands trailed over the impossibly smooth skin of Castiel’s vessel, whose chest was rising and falling heavily in anticipation.  He teased the angel’s flesh for a bit longer before deciding that anymore foreplay would cause his brother to accidentally rip his meatsuit to shreds.  His thumbs hooked in the band of the low-slung boxer-briefs and tugged them down, leaving the young, newly fallen angel completely exposed.  Castiel reached up to him in silent pleading when he loomed over him again, willing away the rest of his clothing.  His trembling hands found Lucifer’s arm, supporting his weight, and the hand cupping his face again.  Impossibly deep sapphire eyes glittered with lust and slight fear as Lucifer aligned himself with his brother’s untouched entrance.

“I’ll take care of you, Castiel,” Lucifer whispered soothingly, gentle voice made of velvet as the hand supporting himself moved to quickly prepare and lubricate the area, slicking his own length just to be cautious.  This was going to hurt, and in Castiel’s completely short-circuited state of mind, he might not realize it until there’s nothing but fire in wake of pleasure, so the Devil took the necessary precautions for him.  Then he realigned himself and pushed past the ring of muscle.

Lucifer had forgotten what the pleasures of the flesh had felt like.  Thinking human and demon below him, he had not succumbed to this primal act in a long, long time.  Castiel was tight and warm and _beautiful,_ so beautiful; his Grace, though fading, young and innocent and powerful and gloriously bright as it pulsated beneath his borrowed flesh.  And the sounds that each thrust elicited from that desperate mouth… God, how he had missed his brothers.  He leaned down further to place tantalizing kisses on Castiel’s chest and abdomen, burying himself deeper in the younger angel writhing beneath him. 

Castiel had learned human behavior quickly, and understood it fairly well, but sex was something he had never grasped.  He had heard Dean talk of his sexual experiences, but did not understand.  He had watched porn and been confused.  Now, with the Devil deep inside him, filling him and causing this fire in his gut to be fueled while simultaneously extinguished, he understood their rabid desire for one another’s bodies.  His hands found Lucifer’s back and they roamed wherever they pleased, nails digging harshly into his skin and leaving pale marks in their wake.  He pushed back with every thrust, trying to get the Devil in as deep as was possible, to feel that painful bliss for as long as he could. 

Lucifer shifted himself, angling himself slightly so he could tease more of Castiel’s flesh, when he heard the most desperate cry erupt from Castiel’s throat.  It was pained, it was angry, it chilled him with its sorrow and aroused him with its desire for more.  He guessed he had just hit the vessel’s prostate, and attempted to find that spot again as a thin film of sweat began to claim Castiel’s skin.  The younger’s moans became more pleading and whimpering as he surrendered all control and let his composure crumble to pieces, in such need of any sort of release the older could offer.  “Lucifer,” he pleaded in a barely-audible gasp.

The Devil grinned in a way only the devil could and increased the pace of his thrusts, finding the scene of debauchery in front of him that was once Heaven’s most proud and devout soldier irresistible.  He was surprised how quickly Castiel had managed to unravel him without even needing to try; he could feel his own ending rapidly approaching.

“Lucifer, I –” Castiel choked out, mind completely short-circuited and all sense completely lost.

The archangel said nothing, just took Castiel’s length in hand and stroked it provokingly, trying to help him find that release he was so desperately searching for.  Something seemed to be blocking the angel, keeping him dangling just over the edge without spilling over.  The amount of tension and heart-wrenching emotion fueling his passion was also stopping him from finishing.  Placing a kiss in the center of his sternum, Lucifer reached his Grace out to Castiel’s.

The night became daylight in front of Lucifer’s eyes.  Castiel cried out as his Grace expanded to meet Lucifer’s and then exploded in a burst of pure energy, fueled by the purity of the archangel’s essence.  Castiel didn’t even notice the physical symptoms of his orgasm, only the euphoria of his Grace coming back to life from the smallest contact with Lucifer’s own.

Lucifer came undone at the feeling and sight of Castiel’s Grace, so raw from attention and reconnection with one of his brothers.  He found his release deep inside Castiel, still struck with awe at the glory and beauty of another angel’s Grace.

Castiel fell slack beneath his older brother, who panted for a minute, head resting on the younger’s stomach, still buried in his body.  Taking a moment to gain his composure, he pulled out, cleaned the both of them off, and returned his boxers and pants to his person, leaving his shirt off.  He loomed over his overwhelmed brother, who lay frozen on the ground, eyes filled with relief and horror.  The Devil placed a soft, reassuring kiss on the frightened one’s lips, still swollen from their lustful kissing.

“Are you okay, young one?” he asked.

Castiel nodded slowly, not making any other movements, not even breathing, just compartmentalizing everything he had just done.  He felt better, so much better, but the act was unspeakable, condemnable for an angel of Heaven.  And he still considered himself a servant of the Lord.  He had succumbed to the temptations of the flesh, and he had liked it.  What was worse, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.  His love for their fallen brother had never faded, nor his admiration.  Lucifer loved him when the rest of their brothers and sisters had abandoned him. 

“Yes,” Castiel finally said, and sat up.  The Devil leaned back on his heels to allow the movement.  The younger brought their lips together once more, softly, lovingly, before restoring his own clothing and standing up, smoothing out his tie, still unknowingly on backwards. 

“Where are you going?” Lucifer asked, concerned that he was lying.

“To find a way to get Dean out of Purgatory,” he answered with that familiar determination Lucifer recognized in every one of Heaven’s soldiers, and his younger brother was gone.  Lucifer made no attempts to follow him.  Castiel would not accept his help until he forgave him, and despite the release he had just experienced at Lucifer’s hand, forgiveness was still a ways away.  So he would leave the younger be until he calmed down.  He only hoped that wouldn’t take too long.

Lucifer looked around the forest he stood in.  A slow grin spread across his face the more he noticed the effects of Castiel’s Grace.  Every dead leaf, every fallen twig, every dead or impure thing in the forest had been cleared away.  Even his vessel felt a little better.  He examined his skin, and felt his face; the Grace had repaired his vessel, who still continued to wear thin. 

Yes, Castiel was beautiful.  And he would see that beauty again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long to post! I've been really busy. Hope it doesn't disappoint! Don't forget to review! <3

Castiel was dumbfounded at how quickly Sam resigned his search for his brother.  Perhaps he was feeling discouraged.  But Castiel refused to give up.  He blamed himself for Dean’s situation.  He would get him out.  He scoured the Earth, questioning every demon, vampire, shape-shifter, werewolf, or skinwalker he could find for a way in to Purgatory so he could retrieve the human.  Many of them, even the more powerful ones, feared him after hearing of what he had done, but none of them had the information he needed.  He wanted to smite them in anger, but he knew it was not their fault.  He was re-exercising his merciful capabilities, something he never thought he would lose. 

Weeks passed him by, and became months.  Still he had nothing except rumors, all of which were dead-ends.  He found one Leviathan, scared and separated from its pack, who snapped and snarled at him but finally started talking once he injected some cleaning chemicals in to its form.  It claimed that the only way for a non-native to get in to Purgatory was to have their soul pulled in by something, and the only way out was by a goddamned miracle.  He did not exercise mercy with this monster. 

He sat in the former house of Bobby Singer, tipping a rather large bottle of alcohol back and forth.  Sam was off having a life with some human female.  He supposed it was for the best, but he still could not believe how quickly and surely he had given up the search.  He knew that part of Sam Winchester had always longed for a normal life, a life away from hunting, but he never imagined he would take the death and damnation of his brother as a chance to escape.  That wasn’t the Sam he knew.  Frustrated, he grabbed the bottle and chucked it across the room.

Lucifer materialized in the room and had to duck instantly.  “Whoa!”  Narrowly avoiding the projectile, he watched it the glass shatter and liquid disperse before turning to Castiel.  “Bit rude, don’t you think, chucking a bottle at my head?” He teased.

“It was not meant for you,” Castiel clarified.

“So we’re throwing things because we’re angry,” Lucifer deduced.  “I’m assuming that means the rescue mission isn’t going too well.”

Castiel sighed a deep sigh, tired and melancholy.  “I have discovered nothing.”

“You checked upstairs yet?” Lucifer asked.

Castiel’s eyes narrowed in confusion.  “How can I possibly go back?”

“Desperate times,” the Devil shrugged, and crossed the room to lean against the desk that Castiel was sitting at.  “Heaven doesn’t know who’s in control or who has what rights to what information.  You’d probably find something.”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably in the old chair.  “I… I couldn’t stand to see what I did to Heaven,” he admitted.

Lucifer examined his younger brother’s face, trying and failing to hide his shame.  “I know.  That’s why I went up there for you.”

Castiel’s head snapped up and met the Morningstar’s eyes.  “You did _what?”_

The Devil smirked and sat sideways on the wooden desk.  “I know.  They were _not_ happy to see me in the clouds again, to say the least, but I wasn’t there to fight or take over.  I was just there to find out how to get little Dean out of Purgatory.  And I think I may have found something promising.”

“What?” Castiel demanded sharply.

“Take a walk with me,” Lucifer initiated.

“No,” the younger shot down.

“C’mon, Cas, it’s just a walk,” the Devil chimed. 

“Lucifer,” the dark haired angel snapped.

“I know, I know,” the older reasoned, “it’s been seven months and you’re worried he might already be dead.  Cas, he’s in Purgatory, he’s already dead.  Things don’t die in Purgatory.  It’s where monsters go to prey on each other for all of eternity.  Something dies it gets brought back in the opposite corner.  Dean’s been hunting those sorts of creatures his whole life, he’s the reason many of them are there.  He’s smarter than those half-wits.  My money’s on him killing his way out of there in a few more months anyway.  But if it’s a rescue we’re going for, one walk won’t hurt you.”  His smile lit up his eyes, the charm of the greatest manipulator God has ever created even more intoxicating when he was making sense.  Hesitantly, Castiel stood, prepared to follow. 

He blinked – such a human reflex – and they were in a forest somewhere in Maine.  Analyzing the trees overhead, he turned to Lucifer impatiently.  His brother said nothing, only looked ahead and began walking through the trees.  Grinding his teeth, Castiel walked with him.

“Where are we going?” Castiel asked impatiently.

“That way,” The Devil pointed a finger ahead of them to irritate his younger brother.

“This is ridiculous,” growling, Castiel turned around, ready to leave.

“Whoa, hold up,” Lucifer grabbed his shoulder.  The younger shook violently out of his grip.  “You agreed to go for a walk.  We’re walking.  And when we stop, I’ll have something to show you.”

Castiel looked the archangel over.  Seven months had passed since they had seen each other.  He had not even heard the Morningstar’s voice in his head since that night in the forest.  He hadn’t wanted to.  Part of him wished to never see his brother again.  Falling victim to the temptations of the flesh was one thing but to do so willingly, to elect to have lust overtake him and be dominated in such a way?  The thought made him feel filthy.  He smote an entire den of demons afterwards to try and scrub himself of the indecency of fornicating with the Devil.  Being here now with the Devil, walking through the woods towards an unknown destination, he felt hostile towards the one who had seduced him, but also a perverted fondness.  He hated himself for all of it, and just wanted to run away.  Hesitantly, he picked up their pace again.

Lucifer saw it all in his eyes.  The anger, the confusion, the hatred, the self-loathing; Castiel may have fallen, but up until their time in White Russia, he had been pure.  Lucifer had robbed him of his purity, and it was as much a prideful and satisfying feeling as it was a little guilt-inducing.  He only wished to help him, but he had once again hurt the complicated soldier.  Angels were supposed to be simple.  Castiel was an enigma.

He glanced at the dark haired one.  “Angels don’t sleep, but you look like you could use a good long nap,” he commented lightly.

“And you look like you could use a skin graft,” Castiel retorted idly. 

Lucifer couldn’t help but smile at the dry humor.  “Yes, well, as I’ve said before, this body still isn’t the one built to hold me.  But I suppose I’m sentimental.”

“Did you attempt to reclaim Sam Winchester?” the younger asked.

“No,” Lucifer answered, “because when I got out the first thing I wanted to do was go and see you.  Doing so in Sammy’s skin would not have been the best way to earn your trust.”  He grabbed a low-hanging branch and held it up for the both of them to walk over, making sure not to drop it until Castiel was clear. 

“Strange,” Castiel’s eyes were glued to the ground, “I would have suspected your first action to be to pick up where you left off.”

“Why?”  Lucifer questioned, “Because God wrote fifty thousand years ago that Michael and I were to fight and one of us were to be killed?  Because our Father decreed that we are to live a life of violence and unquestioning servitude?  No thanks.  I played along with his game last time, and guess what?  You and those two stubborn little apes derailed that train.  Why the hell would I try to put that back on the tracks?”  He laughed once.  “No thanks.  I got freedom.  I’m going to do what I want with it.”

“And what you want to do is me?” 

Lucifer stopped walking to double over in laughter.  Confused, Castiel stopped walking too and leaned over to look at him.  When the Devil caught his breath, he straightened up and wrapped one arm around his brother to continue walking.  “Absolutely.”

Tensing, Castiel removed the Devil’s arm from around him.  “Do not touch me,” he said darkly.

Lucifer sighed, trying to control his slow-growing frustration with the dark-winged soldier.  “You did not seem to have a problem with it up until now,” he commented, keeping his voice level and soft.  “I’m very tactile, Castiel.  I’ve been bound to many forms since my expulsion in to Hell.”

“I’m asking you to cease,” the younger pushed.

“Is this because of that night in the field?  Do we need to –”

“What happened on that soil was a sin, and the lowest I’ve ever sunk!”  Castiel was visibly furious now, and taking it out on the archangel.  He stopped them in their tracks to yell at the Devil.  “If you weren’t manipulating me that means I did that lucidly.  I have turned my back on Heaven if that is the case in preference of a life of sin and lust, and I cannot handle that.  I cannot be that.  I am, and always will be, a servant of Heaven and an angel of the Lord.  Perhaps you can be okay with being banished from the Host, but I cannot, Lucifer, I cannot.”  He fought hard against the tears stinging in his ducts.  How human he had become, needing to fight so many of his vessel’s natural reflexes.  Despite his cruel words and blaming, Lucifer was grinning.  This confused him.  “Why are you smiling?”

“Because you admit it, finally,” the Morningstar explained.  “When I first came across you in that hospital, you thought you were free of our brothers, and happy with this.  But it had broken you in more ways than you could see.”  He took Castiel’s shoulders so he could not avert his gaze, noting how shifty he still was at his touch.  “You’re an angel, Castiel, you’re not meant to survive on your own.  You need your brothers.  And you need a cause to serve, one that makes you feel righteous.  That’s why you aided the Winchesters.  And now that they’ve won, that’s why your thoughts return to Heaven.  You’re just seeking out comfort, and that’s perfectly natural.”

Castiel stared back in to the grey spinning pools of Lucifer’s eyes, not trying to shy away from him.  He studied the sunken orbs, the Grace behind them shimmering at the mentions of his name and Heaven’s.  Fascinating was the fallen angel’s Grace: pure, powerful energy that somehow burned cold and remained alive despite being severed from the Holy Host.  “How did you survive?” He whispered, the sound barely audible.  But Lucifer caught it; Lucifer caught everything.

A half-smile tugged at the archangel’s lips.  “Who says I did?”  Releasing his brother’s shoulders, he took a few steps forward again, and held out his hand in beckoning when Castiel did not immediately follow.  Hesitating, Castiel slowly picked up their pace again, no longer sure his motivation was solely about rescuing Dean.

“Are we almost there?” the younger asked after a few minutes of walking in silence.

“About,” Lucifer nodded.

By all of damnation, Castiel was thinking hard; Lucifer could feel the storm inside the younger’s head from his place next to him.  He wished to peek in, see what was troubling him – though he could manage a few inferences – but he decided that the soldier’s troubles were best left to be confessed, not pried upon.  His main goal since his re-release from Hell had been to get Castiel to trust him on his own time.  So he would wait.  But the amount of emotion within the storm would have overwhelmed even him, with all of his experience in dealing with emotional reactions.  Castiel was not only young for an angel, but new to free thought and expression.  The fact he had discovered feelings at all was rare in and of itself.  Angels were not meant to feel or think, only to serve and obey.  And the weight of all the negativity that had found him in his first emotional experiences was crushing him.

Lucifer finally stopped walking.  Looking around, Castiel was confused.  There did not appear to be anything special or significant about their current location.  It wasn’t a clearing or peculiar collection of rocks or an abnormal formation, just another patch of forest.  He scanned their surroundings for a moment longer before turning to his brother, dumbfounded.  “Why have we stopped?”

“Don’t you feel it?” Lucifer asked. 

“No,” Castiel answered.

“Give it a moment,” Lucifer instructed, “it’s subtle.  There’s an energy here.  An odd one.”

“I’m growing impatient,” Castiel ground his teeth, “why can you not just speak plainly?”

“Because you’re not getting it,” Lucifer held his gaze.  “This world isn’t black and white anymore, Castiel, though for some sick reason God let all of you continue on thinking it was.  Everything in existence now is varying shades of grey.  The good, the evil, somewhere down the line they bled in to one another.  Admittedly, that may have been my fault.  I’m trying to help you see this because if you don’t get it through your thick skull that the world isn’t the one you observed two thousand years ago you’ll be a mess forever.  Stop asking for the answers from your superiors and make up your own for once.” 

The younger’s eyes narrowed.  Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose.  His temper was one of his flaws, a personality trait so graciously given to him by the Pit.  Upon his exile there he had grown rather cross.  Taming it for the sake of having Castiel listen to him was proving to be a little difficult.  Sighing, he apologized.  “That came out harsher than I intended.  Just stop for a moment and feel the air.  Humor me.  If nowhere else you should feel it on the ends of your feathers.”

It was no secret that Lucifer enjoyed teaching by means of riddles and philosophies.  The music he bestowed upon Heaven, aside from being the most beautiful symphonies the Host had ever known, was always heavy with teachings.  The angels looked to him for guidance as well as command, as they did with all of the archangels.  Castiel had not heard many of the songs; by the time he was created, Lucifer had begun playing less and less.  The creation of human beings wore away his desire to play and create.  He imagined making him stop and feel was the archangel’s way of returning to some of that.  So, in an effort to make peace, he focused on the air. 

He felt it after a moment, a disturbance in his feathers, still tucked away on another plane of existence.  An odd electric sensation flowed from the tips of his wings to his Light.  It was subtle, barely there, but once he noticed it, he couldn’t turn his attention from it.  It bothered him.  “What is it?” he asked.

“It’s Purgatory,” Lucifer responded, “This is the location of the human portal.  It’s a one-way connection, there’s no worry of a human falling through from Earth into Purgatory, but some of the energy can be felt even when it’s dormant.  It bothers you, right?  It should.  Purgatory is a place of eternal nightmares, less pure than Hell.  Some of the things in there, angels aren’t meant to come in contact with.  We have no defenses against them.  You felt it, right, when faced with that Leviathan, that constant discomfort?  Most angels don’t even realize they have a fight-or-flight defense mechanism.  That was your Grace telling you that creature is capable of killing you and you have minimal defenses against it.”

“This is supposed to make me feel better how?” Castiel asked darkly.  The thought of Dean trapped in a realm with faceless monsters not even he could stand his ground against troubled him more than the thought of him being trapped and outnumbered by abominations.

“Because this is where Dean will emerge from Purgatory when he finds the portal,” the Morningstar said.  “You’ll be able to see when he’s close from this end.  It’ll react to his presence on the other side.”

Castiel’s eyes glistened.  “Is there any way to open it from this end?”

Lucifer looked at him in alarm.  “Why the Hell would you want to do that?”

“To go and get him myself,” Castiel answered with resolve.

“Like Hell I’d let you do that,” Lucifer roared, “I barely got you clear of Dick’s explosion, I’m not about to just let you flip in to Purgatory on your own terms!  The point of Purgatory is to keep things _in,_ and the more powerful they are, the more difficult it’s supposed to be for them to get out.  You’re an angel, Castiel; even in this debilitated state you’re more powerful than half the creatures in there.  You really think you’d be able to just come back?  Dean’s got a way out.  No human is intended to stay in Purgatory.  It’ll spit him out one way or another.  But you?  To that place you’re just another inmate.”

“I’ll go in and lead him to this place, then follow him out through the portal,” Castiel pitched.

“And if you can’t follow?”  Lucifer challenged, “It’s a _human_ portal, Castiel.”

“Then I’ll be where I belong,” the younger answered finitely. 

That caught Lucifer off guard.  He sympathized with Castiel’s guilt.  He had named himself the Winchesters’ guardian.  This was obvious.  It was understandable, then, why he felt responsible for Dean’s current situation.  It was understandable, too, why he felt shame towards having let the Leviathan loose.  But here he was, confessing just how little he thought of himself and how much he still did not forgive himself.  Lucifer found himself at a loss for words for what was likely the first time in his timeless existence.

“Castiel,” was all he could manage.

“I need to do penance,” came the younger sharply, “when an angel makes as many mistakes as I have, and ones with such weight, they are punished.  I cannot simply be forgiven for what I have done, Lucifer.  I cannot.  And I will not allow it.  I slaughtered thousands of humans on Earth.  I am meant to be their shepherd, not their executioner.  I devastated Heaven in unparalleled ways.  Not even you are capable of the destruction I have caused.  You said ‘no’ once and Father condemned you to Hell for all of eternity.  Do not tell me I am deserving of anything less than the land of eternal torment.”  He was fighting tears again.

Lucifer kept calm for the sake of his delicate sanity.  Soothingly, he took his brother’s shoulders, smoothing out the sleeves on his trench coat.  Castiel attempted to jerk away from the contact, but Lucifer gripped his arms and held him in place.  “Look at me, brother,” he cooed, but when the younger refused to meet his eyes, he resorted to a hypocritical method.  “Castiel, look at me,” he bellowed in the authoritative voice he had not used when addressing an angel in thousands of years.  Castiel’s eyes met his instantly then, alert and attentive, the need to listen to his superior still written too deep in his subconscious.

“Now listen to me, Castiel, because I’m putting an end to those thoughts right here,” his tone had not changed.  “You are _not_ deserving of eternal torment.  You made a mistake; this is natural when choosing your own path, which is what you have done.  One mistake does _not_ condemn you to a lifetime of suffering, despite what our Father may have taught you.  It’s not the mistake that matters, but what you do to correct it.”  He leaned in closer.  “So, dear brother, what are you doing?”

“Rescuing Dean,” he whispered, the words barely audible.

“Right.  Good.  But rescue does not require self-sacrifice.  Even if access to Purgatory were possible through this portal, you would not be doing that because that is not what he needs.  When he gets out of there, and he _will_ get out of there, he’ll need you.  So no more of that martyr talk, got it?”

He bowed his head.  Lucifer could have slapped him.  “This isn’t an order, Castiel; I’m trying to get you to see this on your own.  Do you understand that you can move on from this without punishment?”

Castiel’s eyes were wide with intimidation and determination, and a hint of skepticism.  Somehow, through all of this, the stubborn little soldier still didn’t trust him.  Was it the fact that the choices he made with his own freedom were not the best?  Very likely.  Their Father had used the consequences of his refusal to bow to humanity to train the Host into the utmost loyalty.  He wove wondrous tales of the true face of freedom for angels.  An angel could not know freedom, he warned, it was not within their abilities to make proper decisions on their own.  They are capable of it, indeed, but it would destroy them, turn them in to monsters like it had the beautiful Archangel.  Free will, he said, was not designed for angels.  They existed to serve, and they were to be content with it. 

He repeated his question, a little softer this time.  “Do you understand that, Cas?”

“Yes,” he finally answered, and Lucifer released his shoulders.

“Good.”  He quipped, returning to his lighter manner of speaking.  He had never been fond of the angels’ almost brainwashed way of listening to him and his brothers.  The amount of control they had at their disposal over the Seraphs was intended to eradicate disobedience.  Even back when he was Heaven’s golden child, he found it irritating that they could not disapprove of any of his words.  Simple questions and favors may as well have been the Word of God himself whenever the Archangels spoke.  Most of the time he paid no mind to it, but every now and again he became conscious of it.  Perhaps that minute awareness had sparked his rebellion.  He didn’t know, but didn’t particularly care anymore.  What was done was done.

“Would you mind leaving me alone for a while?” Castiel asked respectfully after a long pause, eyes fixated on where he thought the energy was bleeding from.  He could feel his brother’s eyes on him, but did not wish to return his gaze.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow.  “So you can try to pry that portal open?”

“So I can think,” the dark-haired one corrected.  “That’s what you want, isn’t it?  For me to think for myself?”  Lucifer nodded.  Castiel could feel it hanging in the air.  “It’s hard to form unbiased opinions when you’re here.”

Lucifer grinned proudly.  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”  And he left the younger alone with his thoughts. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again very sorry that this chapter took so long. I've been very busy with college technicalities. Hope this chapter is worth the wait!

Chapter 7

Castiel went back to that location in the forest in Maine every day.  In between searching for ways to rescue Dean himself and checking up on Sam, he made sure to return to that spot at least once every day, doing a quick scan of the forest to make sure he hadn’t already gotten out before standing and waiting patiently.  He sometimes stood there for hours, watching the sun rise or set.  Whenever he returned, he tilted his head to the sky and prayed for Dean’s safe homecoming.  Prayer had never stirred doubt in his mind until these past few years, when it became apparent that God had abandoned them.  But it was all he knew to do while he still had no answers.  God had resurrected him at least twice.  The third may have been Lucifer but the first two times could have been no one else.  Maybe he was still watching.  His prayers were short, but consistent.  For the rest of his time in those woods he just stood, stoic and unmoving, waiting for something to happen.

Tonight he sat, legs crossed, arms meeting at the wrists in his lap.  A feeling of discouragement found him three nights ago, and his visits to this place became shorter.  He intended to stay here longer, but found himself disheartened.  So he sat in the grass and leaves, under the cover of the rustling leaves from the vast forest surrounding him, mentally praying as loud as he could for Dean to appear tonight.

“You’ve been praying for hours,” he heard Lucifer’s voice behind him, “Same prayer on loop all night.  Michael can probably hear you from the pit.”

Castiel did not stop praying when he responded simply, “Only God is to hear our prayers to him.”

“God and the Archangels,” Lucifer corrected, and sat down next to him.  Castiel did not seem to acknowledge his presence.  “We heard them all, every prayer from every angel, seraph, cupid, mortal, whatever.  We were his spokesmen, and his administrators, in a sense.  Sorting through the prayers was part of the job, which ones to honor and which ones to ignore.  As man’s numbers grew, so did the prayers.  Usually it was us dealing with those.  Often times we would be the ones to answer the prayers of our brothers, not Him.  The ones we deemed the most important, we would pass on to Him.”

“…the most important?” Castiel’s words were barely audible.

“People pray about the most pointless things,” Lucifer ranted, “especially back when they were first spawned.  Seriously, back in the beginnings of man, we never got a freaking break from their prayers.  If they stubbed their toe they’d pray for the pain to go away.  Nowadays it’s a lot of boring and predictable stuff.  ‘Dear God, please make me filthy rich,’ ‘Dear God, please let me get that promotion,’ ‘Dear God, please let a McDonald’s open in my town,’ they have no will or motivation to achieve anything on their own.  Because God makes everything and favors man the most, God should bow to their every will, all seven billion of them.  And they claim to be _His_ humble servants.”  He snorted.  “When I got out of the pit I started hearing all of the prayers again, back in the Holy coverage zone.  With me gone Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael must have had so much bullshit to sort through.  God only ever cared about the really pertinent stuff.  Maybe he left because he had nothing to do anymore.  Or he was tired of their whining.”

“Stop,” Castiel tensed bitterly.  He had his doubts about Heaven, but to blaspheme God in such a way as Lucifer was now was condemning.  He would have no part of it.

“Sorry,” Lucifer apologized genuinely, “you know me, highly opinionated.  It’s a nice feeling though, getting to say and think and do whatever you want.”  He paused to study his younger brother’s face, wrought with uncertainty.  “Once you figure out how to use that.  And you will.  Soon as you realize what it is you want.”

“You sound like you already know,” Castiel pointed out.

“Of course I do,” Lucifer answered smugly, “but telling you would rob you of the discovery.  You need to sort it out on your own.”

“You continue to say that,” The younger reproached, “and then tell me how to do so.”

“Because you’re doing it wrong,” the Morningstar snickered.  Castiel gave him a look, which made him cackle louder.  He raised his hands in yielding.  “Hey, I’ll back off if you really wanna travel this road solo.”

“I never said that,” the raven-haired one denied almost too quickly.

“Then don’t question my methods,” the devil chimed self-righteously, placing his arm around the younger in a somewhat mocking manner.  Castiel shrugged it off of him.  “Right, right, my bad; _no touching,”_ the older sneered sardonically.  

“If you’re going to be an ass, just leave,” Castiel growled bitterly.

Lucifer’s lips fell into a frown.  “I’m not trying to upset you, Cas,” he explained.  “You were praying pretty desperately.  You’re a mess, which is odd considering it’s pretty hard to throw an angel off balance, even a falling one.”  Castiel shifted uncomfortably.  “I’m just trying to lighten the mood.  Maybe get you to take a break from your portal duty.”  His brother did not respond, did not even move.  He sighed.  “Cas, I know I told you that he’ll find this place, but the fact is, that could take a very long time.  You shouldn’t feel the need to watch it every second of every day.  Nor should you feel the need to rescue him, really.”

“One of us has to,” Castiel almost spat.

“Wrong again,” the older disagreed, ignoring the clearly vicious jab.  “Accidents can happen now that the Fates are unemployed.  And no miracles can bring him back; he’s beyond the touch of an angel.  Hoping is healthy, praying is reasonable, but destroying yourself with self-loathing while ignoring the possibility that he may never come back will kill you.  And I’m not allowing that.  Not when this is not your fault.”

“Accepting your guilt here?” Castiel inquired.

“Nobody is guilty of anything here,” Lucifer avoided, “but it’s nice to see the humans have imprinted their desire to project blame on easy parties onto you.  Really nice quality, Cas.”

The soldier narrowed his eyes.  “If we are naming negative qualities in one another now, might I bring to light –”

“I’m unashamed of my imperfections,” Lucifer interjected, “I became aware of just how imperfect our Father and His world and creations are when I fell.  I went through the shock of it all and then _got over it._   And I’m okay with it.  You’ve been exposed to all of it for years now.  You’ve seen what our brothers are really capable of, what you’re really capable of.  Corruption and imperfection are not limited to the Earth, and they are not absent in us or our Father.  We wanna turn this into a chat about all that’s wrong with the world?  We’d be talking until the end of time.  What surprises me, and frankly what I think is holding you back so much, is how hesitant you are to accept this.”

Castiel exhaled sharply, trying both to keep his temper in check and resist the urge to lash out in frustration.  “Do you understand the weight of that?  Asking me to simply accept the horrors is asking me to ignore everything I have grown to know and accept as fact.  According to you, my entire existence has been shrouded in lies, when I am supposed to be a harbinger of truth and enlightenment to others.  Do you understand what that means for me?”

“Yes,” Lucifer bore his eyes into Castiel’s until the younger felt obliged to meet his gaze.  “What upsets me so much is the fact that you’d rather go against your nature to tell the truth now in order to sell a lie to yourself just because it’s more comfortable.  You don’t have to go through this alone, Castiel.  I did, and it was agonizing.  I won’t let you do it alone.”

The younger averted his gaze again, responding to the tense silence with only “you talk a lot,” after a minute.

“You engage me,” the archangel said simply, “nice to have someone to hold real conversations with after only having dimwitted vermin available for socializing for however long I was down there for.  How long was I gone, anyway?  Time’s all a blur down there.  Sometimes it felt like only seconds had passed; sometimes it felt like the universe had run its course.”

“Four thousand years,” Castiel answered monotonously.

Lucifer shrugged.  “Not so bad.”  The raven-haired one scoffed at the Devil’s sarcasm.  

“You told me back when I first reappeared that you all missed me,” Lucifer reminisced, restraining the heavy sorrow behind the question, “did you mean it?”

Castiel thought back for a moment to give his brother the most honest answer.  “Yes,” he finally said.

“And you?”

Castiel locked his jaw.  “Yes.”

Lucifer smiled.  Looking up at him, Castiel felt the infectious grin tugging at the corners of his lips.  Everything could be okay if the Morningstar was smiling.  That smile had helped fuel the lights of the first mornings on Earth.  Even now, with all of damnation poisoning his mind, the archangel was still a beacon of purity and hope in the soldier’s mind.  So maybe, if Lucifer could keep smiling, it would be a great enough miracle to bring Dean back.

“Why did you engage me?” Castiel felt reluctance warning him not to ask, but fought it.  “After you pulled me to safety and I attempted to kill you, why did you engage me like that?  Of all the ways to respond to someone trying to take your life, that was by far the most peculiar I’ve ever encountered.”

A flash of teeth as Lucifer’s grin became slightly perverse.  “There’s no satisfactory answer to that question for an angel so convinced that the act is impure.”

“Ignore my opinions then.  What was your motivation?”

Shrugging, Lucifer leaned back on his hands.  “Emotions are tricky, Castiel.  Anger, sorrow, the really powerful ones can present themselves in pretty violent ways.  Hence why you tried to kill me.  And repressing them is not easy, nor is it healthy.  Emotions need to be released.  Bottling them up is harmful.  That doesn’t necessarily mean that just because they presented themselves as bloodlust, they have to be carried out in such a way.  They can be channeled and released through other means.”  His eyes glimmered with mischief.  “Lust causes a lot of physical reactions.  I simply offered you a different form of release that didn’t involve killing me.  I like not being dead; would prefer to stay that way.”

“So, you were just –”

“–distracting you, giving you another outlet for all that rage, yes.  You embraced the pain of it, remember?  Pain releases those built-up chemicals in your head.  And as long as you’re in a human form, they’ll affect you.  I don’t think it technically counts as masochism so you shouldn’t have to worry about any secret fetishes.  Not that they’re a bad thing.  Whatever gets you off.”  He did not wink suggestively, but he did not have to.  Castiel heard it in his tone.  Sometimes the Devil’s lewd humor was predictable.

“So long as that was not you fulfilling some long repressed desires,” the soldier mumbled.

“We met once before my fall,” Lucifer said, “don’t flatter yourself.  Captain of the Garrison of Earth is an impressive title, I’ll give you that, but there was no interest there.  I knew your name.  That’s about it.  But if you’re looking for blackmail, ask Anna about that time during the formation of the Rocky Mountains.  Should catch her off guard.”

The suggestion hardly registered to the younger.  “Anna is dead.”

“Oh,” suddenly the Morningstar lost his halfhearted tone.  “I didn’t know.  Who killed her?  If it was a demon I’ll bury the entirety of Hell.”

“It was Michael,” Castiel explained, “at the aid of the Winchesters.”  He regretted mentioning the Winchesters at Lucifer’s vengeful countenance.  “You and Anna were close, then?”

“She was a good soldier,” Lucifer nodded, “intended to stand with me during my rebellion.  I convinced her not to.  She would have been killed for standing with me.  Heaven was going to need at least one angel still capable of thinking for themselves when I was gone.”  He sighed.  “A lot of good it ended up doing.”

The archangel’s thoughts consumed him.  Castiel wondered if he would even hear him should he say anything.  Clearly whatever his relationship with Anna before his banishment into Hell, it went beyond professional admiration.  He wondered for a moment what leaving her behind must have been like.

“I’ll just leave you to it, then,” Lucifer gestured towards the empty air in front of them as he stood, “you never know, he could be back tonight.”  Castiel wanted to call to him, insist he stay and share his thoughts, but he found himself incapable of speaking.  The Devil was gone before he could work out how he would ask his brother not to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave any comments or constructive criticism. A simple "hey nice job" can go a long way. The next chapter will be up as soon as it can be. Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed that this is very dialog-centered. I'm hoping to change that in the coming chapters. In the meantime, I'm sorry if the constant talking about feelings and not actually doing much isn't too annoying. Thanks so much for sticking with it this far!

Castiel still spent all of his time either at the portal site or scouring the Earth looking for a way to bring his human pet back.  Lucifer empathized with the obsession to a degree.  He understood the guilt, and the determination, but he could not wrap his mind around the fixation on Dean Winchester.  Why him?  Why a human?  Most angels thought little of them, even if they weren’t supposed to be capable of free thought.  All angels harbored some personal opinions, they just ignored them.  He couldn’t.  

His father had made him like that, surely; nothing happened without God’s approval.  God controlled every aspect of the angels, and thusly, created Lucifer to be rebellious.  He had thought about it for millennia, how his father had intentionally gave him the gift of free thought and then punished him for it.  Ultimately he had arrived at the conclusion that God had a twisted sense of humor.  His creations were entertainment to him.  That’s why he permitted disease and poverty and violence and torture.  These things were interesting.  Simplicity was not.  Sometimes the Devil hated God.  Sometimes he agreed with him.

Castiel was not much for talking while he was on Portal Duty, and attempts to get through to him were testing the Devil’s patience.  He could only contain his desire to completely reprogram his younger brother’s mind through so much obstinance.    So he had left him alone for the past few weeks.  The younger never deviated from his strict schedule so Lucifer knew exactly where to find him should he need him.  In the meantime, he reacquainted himself with the world.

Mindful of the fact that any impactful activity would set off an alarm not only in Castiel’s head, but in the heads of all the angels still in Heaven, Lucifer revisited many of his favorite locations on Earth, grimacing when he saw the state of them.  Once glorious mountains, fields, forests, and rivers, now had fallen to the industrialization and selfishness of man.  He wondered if this could even be called Earth anymore.  Whole species, too, had been wiped out by their carelessness.  God found this acceptable?  He scoffed.  Of course he did.  Everything man did was acceptable to Him.  

The more of Earth he saw, the sicker he felt.  They had destroyed their home, this beautiful work of God, and they did not even care.  He hated them.  He hated God for letting it happen.  He hated the angels for not standing with him when they had the chance.  Had all of Heaven sided with him, perhaps they could have saved this wonderful place, the true embodiment of God’s beauty.  But that beauty was gone now, in God and on Earth.  Were he human he would have thrown up.  Instead he just felt the numbing effect in his Grace.  

Seeking something he did not wish to smite, he opted to visit an old friend.  Who likely wanted nothing more than his Grace in a jar and his head on a spike.  The thought made him smirk.

 

Sam hooked the leash onto his impatient dog, eager for their morning jog.  Opening the door quietly so as not to wake Amelia, he lets his companion out first, and is almost pulled into their usual pace.  Two miles down the road and back again.  He may not have as vigorous a training schedule now that he was no longer hunting, but he kept himself in shape.  Two miles was nothing.  

When they got back, Amelia had awoken and was prepping breakfast for the three of them.  He kissed her cheek and unhooked the leash so the dog could get to his water.  When breakfast was ready, and she sat down, he wondered why he had turned his back on a life like this after Azaezel was killed.  Just until Jess’s death was avenged, that’s what he had told Dean when he first fetched him from Stamford.  That was six years ago.  He was supposed to have returned to a normal life six years ago.  Why had he waited?  The answer was both simple, and not so simple.

Dean. 

His brother depended on him.  They depended on one another, really.  So when he asked Sam to stay, he did.  That’s how it always worked.  Listen to Dean.  But he didn’t always want to.  And not listening to him had almost gotten them both killed.  Worse, it freed Lucifer from Hell.  So many things in their lives and in the world went wrong after he decided to remain a hunter.  Everyone would have been better off if he had just left when he said he would leave.  Dean might have even still been alive.  His justifications for not looking for his older brother were shaky, even to him, but he managed to convince himself this was for the better.  It gave them both a way out.  Even if Dean’s way out unfortunately was death.  The two of them came to terms long ago that they likely would not see age forty.  And they’d had more chances than most.  Everyone’s time had to come eventually.  And in truth, he was tired of fighting for their survival.  He didn’t want to survive anymore.  He wanted to live.

“Are you really living though, Sam?” came a startlingly familiar voice.  He turned back around to face forward and saw Lucifer back in the same vessel he “improvised” as he called it back when they freed him.  Jumping, he made to run and grab the angel blade he kept hidden in the kitchen.  “I wouldn’t,” Lucifer interjected, “She can’t see me.  Wouldn’t want to appear anything other than normal, now would we?  So I suggest keeping your voice down as well.”

“If you hurt her,” Sam growled, fists clenched at his sides as he spared one last glance in Amelia’s direction, still cleaning the dishes from their breakfast.

“Thought never crossed my mind,” the Devil’s eyes were uncharacteristically friendly.  He motioned to Sam’s ajar chair with them.  Hesitating, Sam seated himself again, entire body tensed.  

“How are you even here right now?” He growled.  “I jumped into that pit with you trapped in my body.  The door snapped shut behind us.  There’s no way you could have escaped.”

“I would have said the same thing to you,” the Devil chuckled, “yet here you are without a scratch; barely an unpleasant memory on you thanks to loyal little Castiel.  He pulled you out.  You don’t think I couldn’t have followed him?  Clever little tactic he pulled, finding a way into the cage like that.  The thing about it is, it’s so heavily secured that you get the alert on the inside as well that someone’s breached it.  So following him out wasn’t particularly challenging.  Hell, I let him rescue you for that reason.  So we both got a get-out-of-jail-free card.  How ‘bout that?”

“Not buyin’ it,” Sam glared at him, “Castiel’s careful.”

Lucifer scoffed.  “Is he?  Could have fooled me with the Leviathan fiasco.  Even the archangels know not to fuck with Purgatory.  Well, at least they did.  Raphael brought his death upon himself.  He was always a bit thick.  Made him a bit of a liability at times.”

“Sam?”  He heard Amelia call.  “Who are you talking to?”

“Just on the phone,” he answered back quickly, jumping up and pulling out his phone.  Lucifer nodded in understanding, a look on his face not unlike some form of parental pride.  Sam went to the kitchen to kiss her see her face-to-face.  “I’ve actually got to head out for a couple of minutes.” 

“Everything alright?” She asked with a hint of concern.

He gave her his best boyish grin.  “Everything’s fine, just gotta take care of something.”  With a quick kiss to her cheek, he returned to the dining room and gestured to the Devil to follow him.

“Go ahead and grab your angel blade if it makes you feel more comfortable, Sam,” he offered, “I promise I’m not here to harm you, but I know a hunter’s instinct.”  

Wondering if it was one of the Devil’s tricks, he eventually decided on grabbing the blade anyway before heading outside.  “Whatever you’re here for, just leave her out of it,” Sam demanded as he led the Devil away from his house.  

“I’m just here to talk,” Lucifer said.

“Like Hell you are,” Sam’s tone sounded defensive.

“Honestly.  Oh, might want to hold your phone up to your ear, unless your neighbors are used to you talking to yourself,” the archangel chaffed.

“We’re not doing this here.”

“Where then?  I can take us wherever you’d be most comfortable having a conversation.”  He paused to listen.  “Castiel’s a little busy trying to find a way to rescue your brother right now.  Doubt he’s listening to prayers.”

Sam stopped.  “How the Hell do you know that?”  He looked ready to murder the Devil at any moment.

“Let’s get to where we’re going so we can have a proper chat,” the archangel avoided.

“I’m not saying a word to you without Castiel here.”

“We don’t need a supervisor.”

“I don’t like being outmatched.  Would at least like to have the numbers on my side.”  Something sparked behind Lucifer’s eye at that.  Sam dared not ask why that excited him.  

The next time he blinked they no longer on the sidewalk in his neighborhood.  Instinct overwhelmed him and he took a fighting stance, taking the angel blade out from tucked in the band of his pants and readying it.  

“Calm down Sam,” Lucifer said calmly, gesturing for him to relax.  “Just figured we’d go somewhere you’re more comfortable.  This place is a home to you, is it not?”

“More comfortable, I’m -” He stopped when their location registered.  Bobby’s old house.  Dust had claimed all of the furniture and books.  Some bottles still remained scattered about.  The once cozy home of the simple hunter now felt abandoned and melancholy.  He had not even given this place a passing glance during a drive by since Dean’s death.  “Bobby’s?”

“You’ve never had much of a home besides this place, if my memory of your head serves,” he leaned back against the old desk, “and it does.”

Sam sighed in an attempt to clear the depressing images from his mind.  “What do you want?”

“Just to talk, I assure you.  You know me, I talk a lot.”

“Yeah, and it’s never good for the subject to listen,” Sam pointed out, trying to decide if sitting would be wise.

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Lucifer disagreed, “it helped clear Castiel’s head after he lifted the Hell scars off of yours.  Go ahead and sit down, Sam.  I’ll keep at an arm’s length if it makes you more comfortable.”

The Devil reading his mind almost did not register.  “Cleared Castiel’s… how long have you been out?” He demanded.

“Longer than you’d prefer to know,” Lucifer answered honestly.  “And at the moment you’re wondering how you didn’t notice.  This may come as a shock to you, Sam, but it’s not because you’ve been out of the game.  I’ve been enjoying my freedom.  The apocalypse was de-railed, why would I bother trying to set it up again?  All it means for me is I have to kill my brother, and be framed as the enemy again in the eyes of Heaven.  It’s just nice to get some fresh air now that I’ve got a second chance.  So I’m saying ‘screw you’ to God’s plan.”  He paused to get Sam to look at him.  “Trick I learned from a friend.”

Sam scoffed.  “You were the original rebel.  You didn’t learn that from me.”

Lucifer cocked his head to the side and back.  “I’m not so sure my rebellion wasn’t foretold.  Heaven was run more strictly than any totalitarian government.  Except the angels actually enjoyed it because they knew nothing else.  But think about it, Sam: nothing is created without God’s approval,because he’s the one that makes it.  I couldn’t have rebelled unless he allowed it, couldn’t have even began to question his decisions unless he made me capable of questioning.  I think he wanted that because he wanted balance, and maybe to elevate Heaven’s status a little.  But I did not come here to discuss that.  Unless you’re truly interested, in which case we can make time for it later.  What I really hoped I could talk with you about actually fits our current setting very well.  I remember a time when you killed yourself to keep your brother safe.  When you risked the future of your world just to try and protect him.  Now he’s locked in Purgatory and you’re just sitting on the side lines pretending this is somehow better for the two of you?  Something’s not right with this picture.”

“What’s ‘not right’ with it is that I’m leaving the hunting life behind me.”

“This will always be your life, Sam.”

“Suddenly a little skeptical I wasn’t always ‘running towards you?’” Sam instigated.

“Not in the slightest.  I’m wondering what the Hell happened to that co-dependent relationship you and Dean had.  Or is Hell exactly what happened?”

“What do you even care?” Sam snapped.

The Morningstar almost looked offended.  “Your inability to comprehend that I genuinely care for you is understandable.  I assume you’re trying to find some sort of agenda in my actions.  There’s nothing to find.  I’ll take you back to your foster life if trying to talk to you will get me nowhere.  But this passive behavior is not sitting well with me.  That’s not who you are, Sam Winchester.  You’re not the type of guy to sit back and let chaos unfold.  You don’t let anything or anyone tread on you.  Fate is not a concept you agree with.  You believe in taking a stand and fighting for the right to choose your own path.  You’re like that because I’m like that.  ‘As it is in Heaven, so shall it be on Earth,’ remember?  So either you think Dean truly belongs in Purgatory - which I sincerely doubt - or something’s soured your grapefruit.”

Sometimes the words the Devil chose required rethinking.  He wasn’t sure if it was deliberate or just another example of angels being socially inept.  “I don’t have an answer.”  His voice sounded more pained than he wanted it to.  He looked at his hands.  “I thought I’d be more upset than this when Dean died.  It was sad, I mean, I lost my brother _again,_ but I don’t know.  I’m just so tired of it all.  I’ve lost him too many times, and no matter how many times I fight to get him back, there’s gonna come a time where I’m going to lose him for good.  Nobody can live forever.  I’m sick of the chase.  It’s not even a chase anymore.  It’s tug-of-war.”  

The Devil was staring at him, listening insightfully.  “I left home and went to school because I never wanted this life,” he continued, “I wanted a normal one.  But as long as I keep getting involved in this sort of stuff, rescuing Dean from Hell, breaking him out of Purgatory, whatever, the deeper I dig myself into this life.  I just want a normal, boring existence like the rest of the world.”

“You’re the vessel of an angel  An archangel.  You’re life was never destined to be normal, Sam.  You were always meant for something greater.”

“Well that time has come and gone.   Now I just want to be meant for something smaller.”

“You threw away the rulebook.  You changed the course of action for this world.  In paradise perhaps you would have gotten a break but you chose this life, a life of hardships and pains.”

Sam gave him a look.  “Getting to paradise meant Michael killing you.  I would have died to.”

“Wasn’t talking about that paradise.”  Sam ground his teeth at the Devil’s half-smile.  “I still like my design plan for the Earth better.  But your choice also reflects your view on family, which I’m rather proud of.  And why I’m refusing to believe that this is it.  Knowing him, Castiel will find a way to get Dean out of Purgatory with our without your help.  So where will that leave the two of you when he comes back?”

“And you know Castiel?” It was more of a dismissal than a question.

“He’s my brother.  I know him better than you imagine.  And him and I are more alike than he’s currently willing to admit.  He’ll come around though.  Regardless,” Lucifer clapped his hands together and pointed towards the younger Winchester brother with his joined fingers, “just wanted to get you thinking about what this path could mean for your relationship with your brother once Castiel returns him to the world of the living.”

"Does it even matter?” Sam snapped, fed up with the Devil's game.  "This doesn't concern you at all.  I cannot honestly see you caring about the trivial relationships of a couple of humans!  So what's your real game?"

The Morningstar caught his gaze and did not let it go.  The silence between them hung heavy, but Lucifer let it sit.  Sam stared back, and he noticed some clarity coming to the human’s slower mind.  Humans liked to communicate through eye contact, so he held it until Sam’s eyes softened.  His focus did not change, did not even blink, when he finally spoke.

“You will always be important to me, Sam Winchester.  And you willingly condemned yourself to an eternity in Hell for the safety of your brother.  I can relate.”

Sam dropped their shared gaze first to stare at his hands.  He idly remembered watching the Devil use them to beat Dean senseless against the impala, the only home they had ever really known during a life on the road.  Bobby’s house was a comfortable, and was a home of sorts.  But home to both of them for so long had been the open road, one in the passenger seat (usually him) and the other driving the Impala too fast down an empty street, the sound one of Dean’s tapes playing because he was too picky to listen to anything other than what he owned mixing with the purr of the car below them.  He remembered Dean wheezing out _“It’s okay Sammy, I’m here,”_ from behind broken teeth, a broken jaw, two black eyes and a broken nose, his entire face swollen and sore.  He remembered seeing the army man in the ash tray, still crammed in there from when he got it stuck in there when he was eight or nine years old, he couldn’t remember which, and all of the little kinks the two of them had collectively put in the Impala’s armor throughout the years that Dean had taken care to leave as they were when he rebuilt her.  They were together, they were home, and that gave him the strength to push through the Devil’s hold on him and save the only thing that ever mattered to him, the only constant in his life: Dean.  Dean had taken care of him.  It was his turn.  

He looked up, but Lucifer was gone, as was Bobby’s house.  He was in Amelia’s living room again, his position the same.  He looked around frantically in hopes of getting in one last word, but the Devil had left him to his thoughts.  

Amelia rounded the corner and started at the sight of Sam there when she had not heard him come in.  “Hey,” she called cheerily, “everything alright?”

He looked at her, shaking off his confusion.  “Yeah.  Everything’s fine.”  He smiled.  Because everything would be fine, too.  He’d make sure of it.  He knew Castiel, too, and knew that when the angel became determined, he found a way to accomplish his goals.  Maybe he could achieve them quicker with a little help.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave any comments or constructive criticism! A simple "hey nice job" can go a long way! Especially towards getting me to grind out the next chapter sooner rather than later. Thanks again so much for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long. I've had a really busy August, full of last-minute summer activities before moving in to college. Now that I'm all settled in to my dorm though I've had more time to write than I expected. We'll see how long that lasts once my classes get in to full swing. Thanks so much for reading this far!

Lucifer was observing the rush of Boston from the roof of a skyscraper somewhere in the heart of it when he felt it.  It was difficult to place at first, as he had not felt disturbances in the fabric of reality for quite some time, but it was there.  Something was ripping.  Something was being tainted.  It weighed on him, made him shift uncomfortably.  Something pure was being used for impurity.  And it was something familiar.  

He felt his Grace stirring beneath his vessel, sending him a warning.  One of his brothers was in danger.  

_Castiel._

 

The soldier gritted his teeth and tried again.  _Center yourself.  Pool your energy.  Feel it take form.  Then expand it to do your bidding._ Training seemed so long ago.  By many’s standards it had been; four thousand years seemed like such a long time to mortals.  But it was not for angels.  Time was supposed to be irrelevant to angels.  Up until the rise of man, none of them had need to keep track of it.  Their progress and evolution was faster than any other their Father had created.  It required a certain shift in their mentality as well.  But unlike humans, they were not allowed to fall victim to its effects.  Their training was to be with them forever; any diminishment of skill would result in demotion.  There was nothing more humiliating, except perhaps to be made mortal.  Angels were not supposed to have a concept of humiliation either, but they all knew it.  They all feared the same scorn Lucifer and his followers had received for feeling.  So if they did experience it they smothered it until it disappeared.

_Let the tension build.  Fuel the energy until it is all but spilling out of you.  Contain it.  Control it.  Then manipulate it._

He expelled the raw force of his Grace into the air around him.  The air ignited in heat and light.  Some of the dead leaves at his feet caught fire, quickly burning out.  Scrambling for some sort of hold, he expanded his Grace until he tired and had to retract it again.  In a few minutes he would try again.  And if he failed he would recharge and try again.  And again.  And again.  Until he achieved results.  Or until his Grace went out.  Whichever came first.  

Lucifer was almost set ablaze by the explosion of Grace all around him when he entered the field Castiel had taken as his home for the past eleven months.  Focused energy, powered by rage and sorrow, consumed the air, purifying all it touched.  Wilting leaves and flowers sprang to life; anything dead caught flame and was destroyed.  The pain giving each blast its intensity made his own Grace ache.  The focus of each burst, however, was what concerned Lucifer the most.  

When the energy receded, Castiel looked weak.  Lucifer bounded to his side and caught him as his vessel’s knees gave out.  Castiel stiffened, but did not fight against him.  He took the opportunity to focus solely on recharging instead of bothering to pick himself up.  Lucifer supported him a moment more before leaning him back on his heels.  “Castiel, stop.  Don’t.”

“I am out of options.”

“We agreed this wasn’t one.”

“I lied.  Surely the Father of Lies could have detected dishonesty.”

The Morningstar groaned internally.  “I’m not the Father of Lies.  The humans called me the Bringer of Enlightenment.  Loki is the Father of Lies.  And you know those polytheistic inbreds are not to even be held in the same regard as us.  They are below even the Cupids.”

“Do you insult our brothers?”

“I insult those who dare think they can share our Father’s name.”

“They came first.”

“Wrong.  They were worshipped first.  Our Father made them.  They just do not remember it.  But he made the Leviathan first.  Together they decided to lock them away, and Purgatory was made.  Soon after Hell was as well.  They decided that anything impure would be cast into either Hell or Purgatory, wherever they felt suited it best.  Each of them had their own definition of what was impure though.  But they agreed on one thing: the Leviathan had to go.  Purgatory combines the strengths of God and all of the Pagans.  You’ll never open it from this end, Castiel.  You’ll kill yourself first.”

“So be it,” the younger huffed, “I will die knowing I did everything I could.”

“You can live knowing that too,” the Devil interjected,  bewildered.  Unless it was the will of God, angels were never meant to be martyrs.  Self-preservation and the preservation of their brothers was ingrained as top priority; the conservation and protection of Heaven and its servants.  In all of his years, he had never heard of a suicidal angel.  _Too close.  He’s gotten too close to the humans.  Now they’ve got him thinking like them._

“Castiel,” he could not hide the concern in his voice, “Purgatory is not meant to be accessed by anyone, especially not someone pure like you in fear of you accidentally getting trapped in a place created by evil energy.  You will die before you open that portal.  Not _might,_ there is no chance of it.  It will consume your Grace before it lets you open it.  You’re an angel.  You’re supposed to fear Purgatory more than Hell.”

“Rather poor excuse for an angel,” Castiel spat, “and I do fear Purgatory, but not for the reasons our Father intended.  I fear what it is doing to Dean Winchester, or if a rescue is even possible at this point.  But I will never forgive myself for this if I do not get him out.  I cannot let him rot in there.  I _cannot._ If I am an angel, then I am supposed to protect our Father’s creations.  Instead I got him sent to Purgatory.  He should not be there.  I should be.”

Lucifer stared at him.  “There it is.”  

“What.”

“Do you think you belong in Purgatory, little brother, is that it?”

“I need to do penance.  I deserve punishment.”

“Wrong.”  Lucifer took his shoulders and refused to let go when he struggled.  “Our Father has ingrained in all of you the idea that even turns of events that are beyond one’s control still merit punishment.  It was an _accident,_ Castiel; you misjudged a distance, and as a result the Winchester was caught in the blast.  You could not have prevented that.  At one point our Father was capable of forgiveness.  He has stopped doing that.  That does not mean that you deserve to be sent to the land of eternal carnage for a mistake.  Dean is a survivor and a fighter, with a strong soul.  I don’t think Purgatory could crush him even if the air itself wanted to.”

The former soldier searched his elder’s face.  “It’s my fault, Lucifer,” he said, voice heavy with defeat.  

“When you make a mistake, you do what you can to correct it if you can.  And you learn from it.  But you do not kill yourself trying to fix it.”

“I don’t know what to do, brother.  Please tell me what to do.”

The Morningstar’s lips parted in shock.  Castiel just referred to him as brother.  And he was looking to him for guidance.  Chest stirring, he pulled his younger brother into a tight embrace, resting his head against his shoulder.  He felt hesitant arms wrap around him - loosely at first, then with an almost desperate grip.  

“You remember him,” The Morningstar finally responded, resting his chin on the younger’s head, “You remember him and honor him.  And if opportunity presents itself, you try to get him back.  But you do not put yourself in harm’s way to give him a chance.  It’s not selfishness, it’s survival.  You need to live on because otherwise he is gone for good.”

He could feel the former soldier stifling the sobs that threatened to shatter his composure.  Angels did not show emotion, had no necessity for venting.  But their human vessels knew nothing else.  After his banishment, Lucifer saw no reason to continue repressing emotional responses.  He would show Castiel how to manage them.

Expanding his Grace to Castiel, Lucifer called for his wings to manifest and wrapped them around his younger brother.  Appendages of the purest white encircled the falling angel, feathers tipped silver at the ends.  Crimson tainted the axillars and bones beneath the powerful muscles, making them visible under the translucent coverlets.  The sight of them after nearly four thousand years without their immense beauty was almost painful to Castiel.  Exposure to Hell had impossibly managed to make Lucifer’s wings more gorgeous than they had been previously.  His chest ached as his own wings manifested without his permission again, Grace desperate to meld with that of the Morningstar.  The archangel lifted his wings a bit to allow the smaller, coal black ones now sprouting beautifully from his brother’s back to stretch and settle so he could encompass them as well.  

They stood like that, unaware of the passing of time, or even its existence, until the air began to stir.

The universe was shifting.  The two servants of Heaven could feel the disturbance in their feathers, stronger now that they were exposed, and getting increasingly more difficult to ignore.  They picked their heads up simultaneously.  The air felt wrong.  Lucifer recognized the phenomenon, as it was one he had both witnessed and personally experienced more than once.

The walls of this plane of existence were ripping open, connecting two realms that were never meant to touch.

A blue hue settled over the forest around them, dim at first as the doorway rippled.  Soon the night was illuminated by blue light, the ripples now violent thrashes tearing through the walls separating this world from another.  Lucifer stared with his mouth agape.  While the discomfort caused by the portal no longer bothered him, as he was so accustomed to a world of eternal damnation, he could tell it still unsettled the younger.  Castiel’s weight was shifting further from the doorway instinctually; he almost felt scared.  

“Is that-”

“The human portal,” Lucifer confirmed, “through there is Purgatory.”

“I do not sense any hikers.”

“It’s a one-way street, remember?  Don’t want random nature-freaks accidentally stumbling into a carnal war-zone.  It’s responding to a human in Purgatory.  He’s close to the location of the door on that end.”

“Dean,” Castiel breathed.

Untangling himself from the archangel, Castiel bolted for the wall of light.

“Castiel!” Lucifer called sharply, voice shrill in alarm.

For the first time since his return, Castiel was capable of ignoring him.  The portal responded negatively to him, as if trying to shove him away, but he pushed forward.  The energy tore at him, burning and scratching and stabbing, but he ignored that too, and stepped through.

Aesthetically, Purgatory appeared no different to him than God’s kingdom.  But the air was different; tasted differently, settled differently, stirred differently, behaved differently, responded differently.  It was wrong.  Castiel could not think of any better description than that; just wrong.  The colors were washed out, drained of any life, the entire place appearing devoid of any meaning besides death and re-death.  Time wasn’t just irrelevant, it did not exist.  The walls of Purgatory were too strong for even time to pierce them.  But it did not feel weightless or timeless because of it; quite the opposite.  Castiel felt exhausted and heavy, his own eternity weighing on him even heavier in this consistent, changeless realm.  

“Dean!” He shouted as loudly as he could manage.  “Dean!”  Scanning the lifelessly thriving forest, his eyes finally found a humanoid form stalking in the forest at the base of the cliff.  Portal still trying to force him out, the angel screamed as he stepped forward into the carnal world and ran to direct his friend towards the portal before it closed.

“Dean!” he called again.

The man turned round to face him, weapon clutched securely and stance prepared and willing to attack.  Dean Winchester’s expression softened at the familiar sight of the vessel he associated with his angel friend, but did not dare relax his body.  “Cas?” He called in disbelief.

“Dean, we have to go now,” Cas halted in front of him, “I’m not sure how long the portal will remain active.  You have to leave now.”

“How the Hell did you even get here?” Dean demanded, fingers unclenching and then re-gripping his makeshift weapon.  

“I will explain once you are free of this place but we must go,” Cas pleaded.

Dean stared at him pensively, eyes cold and calculating.  Castiel reminded himself that Purgatory had likely shattered his mental state.  It was highly likely he thought Castiel a hallucination, the result of trickery from the world he had resided in for the past year.  He prayed Dean would trust him long enough to follow him.

“Go where?” Dean inquired, not loosening his hold on his knife.

Castiel gestured behind him above the rocks.  “There is a portal that leads through back to Earth.  God made a door for humans to escape should one ever find himself trapped here.  But I do not know how long it will last so please, go now!”

Dean tightened his jaw.  “You first.”

Not wasting any more time, Castiel immediately made for the doorway, checking over his shoulder only once to make sure that his friend was following.  Dean climbed swiftly, accustomed now to a life of base survival instinct.  Hesitating just for a moment, Dean finally stepped up in to the glowing portal with one foot, then the other.  He held out his hand in offering to the angel, who remained in place.

“It’s a human portal Dean, it’s not made for angels,” he explained.  “Just go.”

“I ain’t leavin’ without you man,” Dean insisted.

“I can’t leave.  Purgatory is meant to keep powerful creatures in.  Just go Dean.  You don’t belong here.  You never did.”

“Cas you’re being ridiculous,” Dean stepped forward.  Fueled by his own self-loathing and guilt, Castiel roughly pushed him further through the portal.  Dean fought against the pull of the doorway attempting to spit him out.

Bright light.  Fire.  Ice.  Power and electricity.  And then the human and the angel were suspended in space, being pulled towards the most crisp and secure air.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me just start by saying I am so sorry this update took as long as it did. I got bombarded with shit tons of homework out of the blue and did not have time to come back to this for so long. But that's college for ya I suppose. Very sorry again that it took me so long to get back to this. I gave it a quick proofread but if it's rough or out-of-character I apologize. I'm posting this before class because I just wanted to get it out there while it was finished. I'll give it a more thorough edit once I have time again. Thanks so much for being patient and sticking with this!

Dean fell to his knees when gravity regained its hold on him.  Soft grass brushed against his hands.  He could not decide if the dark grime littering his skin was dirt or blood; he decided on a combination.  Air returned to his lungs, and suddenly his lungs were burning, as if he had not breathed in months.  How long had he been there?

When he looked up, his hand reflexively tightened around the weapon that had been pulled through with him.  

Lucifer emerged from the light that had surrounded the human, countenance enraged and agonized as he recomposed himself.  His wings, still manifested, were singed a dulling gray, many feathers ripped painfully from his flesh, others currently burning off their respective limbs.  He looked accusingly at Castiel.

“What the _fuck_ was that Castiel?!” He demanded in a voice that made even Dean cringe, “What were you thinking?!  I told you _explicitly_ that no one was meant to cross through that portal in that direction!  You’re lucky it didn’t rip you to fucking shreds!  And what did you think, that you were just going to pass right back through it with him?  Or was it your plan all along to stay behind and _serve penance_ or some bullshit?  Fucking _look at me_ Castiel!  _What were you doing?!”_

Dean lunged at the Devil the moment his strength returned to him.  He never took his eyes off his younger brother, did not even consider the human, just countered his attack quickly and tossed him thoughtlessly to the side by his arm.  Castiel took a step towards him.

“Don’t even look at him right now Castiel he’s not the one contemplating killing you for being so stupid _what the fuck were you thinking?”_   The Devil snarled.

“I had to get him out,” Castiel’s voice shook like a small child being yelled at for the first time by their parent, “I needed to make sure he found the portal.”

“I fucking _heard you_ Castiel!  You were going to stay behind!”  Lucifer grabbed Dean by his offending fist and flung him backwards, not willing to deal with him yet.  “An angel cannot last in Purgatory!  That wouldn’t be getting what you deserve, that would be dying Castiel.  Not living, just dying.  Over and over again without properly coming back to life.  Each time you die in there it feels worse.  And you’d never be able to get back out.  Serving penance means eventually stopping.  You stupid, selfish fucking _child!”_

“What is going on?”  Dean demanded, coming to terms again with the fact that Lucifer was someone he could not kill with his current weapon and rethinking his strategy.

“Dean Winchester so help me God,” Lucifer glowered at him, seething in a palpable rage, “if you don’t shut your goddamned mouth I’ll send you back there myself because right now the only thing keeping me from slaughtering you where you stand is the fact that it would upset him.  I’ll get to you in a minute but for now don’t so much as let me think you’re here.”  

“I’m sorry,” Castiel lost all his defensiveness, all of his preparation to fight in Dean’s honor.  He looked well and truly spent.  “I am sorry.  I just had to.  It was my fault that he…”  His vessel’s legs buckled and gave out underneath him.  Lucifer reached out and caught him immediately, his anger giving way to his concern.  

“Shit,” he mumbled, “can you feel your wings?”

“Yes,” Castiel responded mechanically.  He heard the older sigh in relief.  “You’re injured badly.”

“I’ll heal,” Lucifer dismissed, “it’s you I’m worried about.  Going through that tore your Grace.”  

Castiel felt as if his form was disintegrating.  The force that held him together was damaged, and it gave him a strange sort of vertigo, like he was falling and spinning and swaying while being crushed.  He clutched the Devil for support, hoping the older could somehow keep him together.  It was not painful, though it certainly was not pleasant.  

“Dean,” Lucifer finally addressed him, balancing his brother in both arms, “it seems answers will have to wait.  I’ve more important matters to attend to.  So for now welcome back.  I’m sure little Sammy will be thrilled to see you.”  And they were gone, leaving the freshly-rescued human alone in an unfamiliar forest with nothing but his weapon and his wits.  The archangel did not doubt his capabilities; if he survived Purgatory for eleven months, finding a road would not be complicated.  

The flight was agony, as his wings had not healed yet, but repairing Castiel’s Grace was more important than restoring a few feathers.  Where they were headed, he could not concern himself with some slight discomfort.

“Lucifer, no,” Castiel managed a slight protest when they arrived, energy still leaking.  Were the Devil caught here, he would most certainly be killed.  

“Ssh,” the elder dismissed, “it’s the only place that can heal you effectively.”  

“I can handle myself,” Castiel tried to shoo him away, “Just go before you’re discovered.”

“If I’m not mistaken, Heaven wouldn’t be too thrilled to find you here either.  We’re both enemies of the higher order so we’re both risking our heads here.  All or nothing, right?”  He offered a characteristic smirk.  Castiel squinted, but did not argue it further.  

Looking over his shoulder once, Lucifer flicked his wrist to shut all of the doors leading in to the great hall they stood in.  The Bibles of man talked frequently of the throne of God, but none of them mentioned the rest of the great infrastructures of Heaven.  He sat Castiel down on the edge of the fountain, which served as the center of Heaven.  Here all of its power collected in the form of liquid light.  The forces that held the domain together, that separated this realm from Hell and Purgatory, that gave birth to the angels at the time of their creation; this fountain was in many ways an extension of God himself.  The Seraphim were strictly forbidden to enter this hall; only the Archangels ever had permission to view it, but even they were not allowed to use it.  Michael was trapped in Hell, Raphael and Gabriel were both dead, Metatron had not been seen for centuries, but that did not necessarily mean he was dead.  He aired on the side of caution should any guards be roaming this hall.  

Keeping his demeanor calm, he placed one hand behind Castiel’s shoulder and the other behind his head.  “Lean back,” he instructed.  When Castiel complied, he lead him backwards, supporting him completely, and dunked him in the light.  The energy tickled his arms, made him feel more pure than he had in a long time, but he ignored it.  He had to time this just right for it to heal his brother.  Submerging him for too little time would kill him; the energy would mistake his Grace for itself and consume him.  Leaving him under for too long would hurt him severely.  He could not take the time to marvel in how beautiful it felt against his own energy.

He pulled Castiel out of the water, body perfectly dry and expression resembling that of a human post-coitus.  He couldn’t help but smile at the thought.  “Now we can go.”

“Wait,” Castiel stood and gestured at the vast fountain.  “Heal yourself.”

“Castiel we need to leave,” Lucifer urged him along, looking around nervously.  The younger looked at him almost pleadingly.  

Begrudgingly, Lucifer approached the familiar pool, cupped his hands, and scooped up the radiant liquid, drinking it down hastily to satisfy the sentimental being enough to get them out of there.  When he took flight again, his wings felt stronger than they had in nearly four thousand years, his Grace like fire beneath his false body.

Castiel directed them back to the sight of the portal; perhaps out of habit, but possibly because he expected Dean Winchester to still be there.  When they arrived, however, the human had left.  The soldier stilled for a moment while he tried to locate his friend.

“Must you crawl back to him already?” Lucifer teased, stretching his wings experimentally as they rapidly repaired themselves.

“I need to speak to him,” Castiel justified, “to apologize.  And provide him with the explanation he was denied earlier.  Not having answers to pressing questions bothers him, especially involving aspects of his own life.  The longer I delay the issue the angrier it will likely make him.”  His expression dropped.  “Not that he is without reason to be angry with me.”

Lucifer peered over his shoulder to gaze at the younger.  The self-loathing he had worked for so many months to diminish was back and more severe.  Hatred for the human agitated his Grace.  “Angry?  Sure, I suppose.  You inadvertently got him killed and sent to a place worse than Hell.  I’d be angry too.  Does it give him the right to remain angry with you for longer than a few days?  Does it give him the right to hate or despise or stop trusting you?  Absolutely not.  And you’d better keep that in mind, Castiel, because that’s exactly what he’s going to do.  It’s who he is.”

“You don’t know that,” Castiel disagreed.

“Don’t I?” The Devil felt his composure slipping.  “It’s exactly what Michael did to me.  When I got out of the cage I asked Michael to please just walk away from that battlefield, to not force one of us to have to kill the other, because we are brothers and I still love him, despite how he betrayed me.  And he said no.  Do you know what his reasons were?  ‘I’m a good son,’ those were his fucking reasons.  As if my rebellion was strictly for the sake of rebellion, and not for the sake of the rest of my brothers and all of our Father’s creations.  He dismissed me as _nothing_ because he refused, after all of these years, to see why I did what I did.  And, just like Sam Winchester is like me, Dean Winchester is like Michael.”  He drilled his eyes into his younger brother’s.  “So tell me, Castiel, since you know him personally, what do you honestly expect his reaction to be?”

The younger could not hold his gaze.  “I would not expect you to understand friendship, Lucifer.  Kinship is all the angels know.  Friendship is not like that.  Friends are allowed to stop trusting each other for a time and not have it be considered a betrayal.  Friends let one another work through difficulties however they need to, even if it hurts.”

“You think I have not done that for you?”

“I am aware that you have.  But it is different.”

“Someone skewed the definition of friendship for you, little one.  Likely so they could manipulate you.  But what do I know, I’m just your brother.  You want to walk straight into that, you go right ahead.  I will never make you choose between me and your humans, namely because I did once and you chose them.  Expecting a different result the second time is insanity.  So go on.  Go beg that pathetic creature for forgiveness when he is not deserving of your humility.  And when he denies you it for reasons beyond your control, come to me, or call to me and I’ll come to you.  Because I will always be here for you, Castiel.  Long after he dies, or long after he no longer sees you as useful to him, whichever comes first, I’ll still be here.  And I will never condemn you for that which you cannot control.”  Lucifer turned his back and willed his wings away.  The situation had diffused his temper.  He could only control himself through so much.  The bitterness of rejection tainted his mouth, made his Grace feel weak.  

“Lucifer,” Castiel said.

“No.”  The Devil dismissed.  “You’ve made it very clear, Castiel.  You would call him brother before you did me.  To an extent I can understand it.  So you run to him first.  Call me when you can hear me again.”  And he left, not to be seen in a state of unchecked emotion in front of the one who looked to him for guidance in that field.  

Castiel would come around.  And when he did, the Morningstar would have a brother again at last.

 

The arctic tundra always offered a sense of serenity and peace of mind to the Morningstar.  Perhaps it was because of his own icy nature that provided such a sense of asylum for him during times of mental disarray; perhaps it was the vast nothingness of the scene.  Ice stretching as far as his eyes could distinguish, wind carrying elegant wisps of snow into the air, causing it to dance; the occasional arctic fox or hare or other mammal venturing in to sight, only to disappear sometime later.  Whatever the reason, a trip to one of the poles usually helped calm him in times of emotional distress.  

He picture the Earth in its frozen state, when most of the land masses resembled the one he currently strode on.  He never thought God could make something more beautiful than that.  The visual definition of serenity and light, as each particle of water and ice reflected the sunlight so hypnotically.  But then the Creator melted the ice, let it thaw, and the angels witnessed the growth of the plants and forests, and saw Him bring forth new ecosystems that would birth immeasurable quantities of life.  Formerly the most gorgeous reflector of light, almost as bright as Heaven itself, the Earth grew its own unique beauty, unlike the shine of the stars.  It became luminous in its own right through the colors it projected and the life it nurtured.  

The knees of his vessel felt weak from the memory.  Beauty in its purest form.  His Father in his prime.  A time when everything felt so glorious.  Heaven was united, the angels were strong, and God was all-knowing, all encompassing.  Existence was simple.  “Life was good,” as the humans said.  

Humanity.  His mood threatened to turn sour.  Everything had been humanity’s fault.  He wondered, not for the first time, if God had created mankind simply because he no longer cared about this beautiful creation.  Or because he had realized that was as good as it was ever going to get, so he was intentionally destroying it all in some desperate attempt to find new inspiration with a different canvas.  

_Why,_ Lucifer thought sadly, _why destroy this one though?  Why not just make a new world to experiment again?  Why destroy something so perfect, so beautiful?_

He feared that the answer might be so infuriatingly simple.  _Why not?_ God was eternal, after all.  Perhaps this had not been his first Earth.  Just the first one he had decided to share Heaven with.  Perhaps the Creator just got bored of beauty every few million years.  

_“Lucifer,”_ he felt a whisper tickling his Grace, and tilted his head down to listen.  Castiel was calling him.  A smirk formed on his lips.  He knew it would not take the human long.  

 

The Morningstar was careful to wipe his smug expression off his face before approaching his brother, staring pensively down at the grounds of the hospital that had housed him for a time.  Interesting place to retreat to.  He approached the younger calmly.

“I’m assuming the meeting did not go well then,” he breathed softly.

Castiel’s jaw clenched, and he turned his head away from the older.  “He no longer trusts me.”

“Because of getting sent to Purgatory?”

“Partially.”

“And the other part?”

The former soldier turned to meet his eyes, and for the first time since his original escape from Hell, he saw hatred and disdain reflected in the steel blue of his vessel’s irises.  “Because of my association with you.”

Lucifer scoffed.  “He hates you for talking to your brother?”

“He does not trust you.  When I tried to explain to him that without you I likely would never have been able to recover him from Purgatory, he would not listen.  He told me that I could not associate with the leader of Hell and still claim to be on their side.  He wants me to choose.  But even then it is doubtful he will trust me.”

“He wants you to ‘choose?’  He is aware that life doesn’t actually work like those damn hospital dramas he’s so addicted to, right?  This isn’t a choice between the mysterious-and-slightly-stuck-up-but-secretly-sensitive stud surgeon and the socially-awkward-yet-loyal nurse.”  it occurred to him only after the comparison left his mouth that Castiel would not understand a word of that.  The raven-haired seraph only squinted.

“I will not lose Dean.  I fought too hard for him to risk losing him over a relationship with a brother I barely know.”

Lucifer couldn’t contain his rage at that.  _“A brother you barely know?_ You barely knew a thing about _yourself_ before I found you in the hospital below us.  You know me about as well as I know you at this point, Castiel, because I helped you find your wings again, and we are one in the same.  For a while there I actually started to think that maybe you were beginning to be okay with that, too.  And if we’re going by the Biblical sense of “knowing,” you _definitely_ know me a Hell of a lot better than you know him.”  He did not even attempt to prevent the grin that spread across his features as Castiel’s jaw dropped.

“You abom-”

“-And don’t you dare try to condemn me for doing something you clearly enjoyed and needed at the time.  You were angry.  You were upset.  You were ready to kill me or anything near you.  You know who murders in times of despair?  Humans and demons.  I diverted the emotions you were not used to handling in to something more… pleasant, shall we say.  I’m not expecting any thank-yous but I’m not going to stand here and take abuse for it because the idea makes you a little uncomfortable.  You’re inhabiting a human body, Castiel.  Remember that.  You might be an angel but as soon as you enter a vessel you become a body, too.  Physicality is hardwired in to these meatsuits.  And the longer you spend in one, the more respect you need to give it.  Otherwise you’ll just end up destroying it.”  Lucifer turned to leave.

“Wait,” Castiel called.  He did not see his brother’s smirk.  There were words he wished to say.  So many ways to express his thoughts, and yet he could form none.  So he decided on something less difficult.  “When you were cast out of Heaven… Did it trap you in a body?”

Lucifer laughed breathily.  “Of sorts.  Sometimes it felt like I had one.  Sometimes it felt like I didn’t.  I couldn’t keep track of what form I was in.  The cage messes with you, Cas.  It’s meant as a prison.  But it never let me feel like an angel.”  His voice sounded too vulnerable for his liking the next he spoke.  “You make me feel like an angel again.”

The words tasted bitter.  Vulnerability was not a position he liked to put himself in, regardless of however it might aid in manipulation.  He spread his unseen wings and left, returning to the tundra that provided him a sweet nothingness to sort out his thoughts.  Castiel wasn’t meant to know just how desperate he was for a family again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick filler chapter - if you can call 4,000 words quick - just for the sake of establishing timelines and whatnot. Sorry if anyone feels out-of-character at all, I'm not so good with writing the Winchesters, hence why I've stuck to writing parts with them in it from Castiel's point of view. But they're still important to this story so I didn't want to cut them out altogether. Hope you enjoy it. I don't like filler much so I only do it when it really feels necessary. Very dialogue-heavy chapter. Sorry if that's not your thing.

Sam hadn’t told Amelia about Rufus’s cabin.  Come to think of it, he had not told her much of anything regarding his life as a hunter.  The thought had occurred to him once, that maybe he should just come clean to her, but then he got an unexpected visit from the Devil.  It was best she didn’t know the extent of the evil that was out there.  She was so lively; he didn’t want to destroy that in her.  He watched his brother’s light die out the more they did their job.  With every monster they killed and every new species they discovered, Dean’s smile faded a little more.  His enthusiasm for the job wasn’t the same as what it used to be.  He used to want it for the sake of being a hunter.  When he died, he died with hunting being his only option.  The only thing he knew.  

He did not frequent the cabin, exactly.  When he needed space to clear his head he would take a drive out here.  It wasn’t too far, by their standards.  He kept the refrigerator stocked with a few beers, but for the most part it was storage for the old weapons and tools of his former trade.  Having them all in a shed out back was not the most ideal location, should Amelia ever get curious.  Rufus’ cabin was available.  He figured it was best used by him than anyone else.

The Impala purred happily underneath him as he pulled her on to the front lawn of the cabin.  He killed the engine and stepped out in one motion, then trod somewhat hesitantly to the door.  Approaching the cabin always brought distant memories to the forefront of his mind, clawing at his psyche as if desperate to torture him.  He would have thought Bobby’s old house a more likely candidate to bring on those thoughts, but even Rufus’ cabin did just fine.  Always riding the line between being a hunter - and a damn good one at that - and wanting a normal life.  For a while there he gave up on it.  Now he had it again, and as much as he enjoyed it, he was still drawn to this place on occasion.  Perhaps the price for gaining normality had been too high, try as he might to convince himself it was better this way.  How could he call any life better than that of a hunter when it meant his brother was dead?

He brushed the old wooden door open with his right hand, sighing as he stepped inside.  Something felt different; he moved forward more intently.  The door swung shut behind him and he was tackled to the ground, a shocked grunt escaping him.  In a blur of plaid and dust, he saw his brother Dean atop him, fighting to hold him down and spray him with water from a bottle; holy water.  He knew this ritual well.  

“Dean, what-” he hid his face to prevent any from getting in his mouth, and inspected his damp clothes as Dean tossed the bottle to the side.  “I’m not a demon!”

Another bottle appeared in Dean’s hand, filled with a murky, white liquid.  It was dumped none-too gracefully on Sam’s face.  “Or a Leviathan!” He protested.  He would reek of cheap cleaning supplies for the rest of the day, at least, but that wasn’t a priority.

His hand was sieged.  He still fought through his confusion, but Dean’s grip was iron-strong.  Wherever he had been, it had not dulled him; quite the opposite, actually.  He did not remember Dean’s grip being so persistent.  A silver blade cut in to his flesh.  It carried a dull sting in its wake, but Sam wasn’t paying much a mind to it.  Once the knife had done its work, his older brother tossed his wounded arm to the side almost violently, causing him to thump back down onto the hard wood.  “Or a shifter,” he declared.  

Dean’s face was hard and determined.  He looked like a hunter, to be sure, but not in the way Sam usually identified him.  Something about him, in the way he was pinning Sam down so fiercely, not letting him get a word in, not saying anything at all, even a sarcastic little remark as he ensured he wasn’t a monster, was… different.  Colder.  Dean was always a little edgy, but this was a man who meant business.  Sam was certain that had he failed any one of the tests, Dean would have killed him without even bothering to ask where the real Sam was.  

“Good, my turn,” Dean huffed and rose to his feet, holding the supplies out to Sam, “c’mon, let’s go.”

“I don’t need to, I, I know it’s you,” Sam breathed unevenly, clutching at his bleeding arm.  Conflicting emotions stirred in his chest: astonishment, euphoria, and just a little bit of fear, as Dean shook his head.

“Dammit, Sammy,” he took each bottle and doused himself plentifully with holy water and Borax.  Then he held the knife out to his brother, now on his feet.  “C’mon,” he urged, flicking the knife handle up in offering.

“No, Dean, can I just say hello?” Sam pleaded.

Frustration steeling his face, Dean rolled up his sleeve and sliced in to his own flesh with the silver blade.  He barely hesitated, and did not let up on his initial pressure.  The scholar in Sam knew that was less than healthy behavior.  Cutting themselves to prove they weren’t shifters was never their favorite activity, because their knives were all kept at their sharpest and hurt like a bitch.  Dean barely even reacted to the sting of the blade anymore.  Somewhere deep in his mind, Sam wondered what had happened to them.  When the job had completely overpowered their sense of self-preservation.

Sheathing the knife, Dean pulled a bandana out of his pocket and wrapped it around the cut on his arm.  His smile seemed forced at first, but gradually looked more genuine.  “Alright, well, let’s do this.”

Sam smiled back.  “I don’t know whether to give you a hug or take a shower.”

Dean chuckled.  “C’mere.”  They stepped forward into a tight embrace, Dean patting Sam’s back like he always did.  He could feel Dean’s shoulders relaxing just a little bit as he held his brother close, and Sam exhaled in relief.  

The contact lasted just a second or two more than most would assume necessary, but what did they know.  His brother had been dead or worse for a year, and like hell if he wasn’t on cloud nine just seeing him again.  Something about him was off, to be sure, but who wouldn’t be just a little bit different after coming back from the dead.  Both of them had had that experience before.  Both of them knew they always came back affected.  Even after more than once, it wasn’t something you just shrugged off and walked away from.  It left marks, wounds.  He just hoped Dean’s wouldn’t be as severe as the ones he brought from Hell.  Oh God, had he been to Hell again?  

When they pulled away, Sam could no longer contain his excitement.  “Dude,” he breathed, tugging at his hair, you’re freakin’ alive!  I mean… what the Hell happened?”

Dean’s face tightened as he forced an ironic smile.  “Well, I guess standing too close to exploding Dick sends your ass straight to Purgatory.”

Sam opened his mouth only to have it shut again.  He shifted his weight and tried to form words.  “You were in Purgatory?”  He succeeded in preventing his voice from cracking, but not from concealing the shock on his face.  Dean nodded solemnly, and Sam could see the pain that it caused him.  Worse than Hell.  Why did their endeavors always get worse?  “For the whole year?”

Again, Dean forced a hollow smile.  “Yeah, time flies when you’re runnin’ for your life.”  His whole body had tensed, the light drained from his eyes again.  He was holding his head high, but Sam knew his tells.  He was still shaken by the not-so-distant memories.

“How’d you get out?” Sam inquired.

Dean shrugged with his eyes.  “I guess whoever built that box didn’t want me in there anymore than I did.”  His smile seemed a little more genuine this time.  Relief.  But it didn’t much answer Sam’s question.

“What does that mean?”

The older’s expression softened, and Sam recognized it as his dismissive look.  “I’m here, okay?”  He wanted to drop the subject, but Sam was a younger brother.  Younger brothers don’t just let subjects drop.

“What about Cas, was he there?”  

He almost regretted the question once it left his mouth.  Dean tensed noticeably, his expression dropping just a little more.  But then he steeled, and his eyes darkened.  There was a hatred there; Sam hadn’t seen Dean this vengeful since Bobby’s death.  Obviously something had happened, but the “this discussion is over” look was there and stronger than before.  Sam shifted uncomfortably and broke their eye contact.  Calming himself, Dean crossed the room, making for the fridge, and switched topics.

“So you, I can’t believe you’re actually here,” the elder Winchester commented, opening the fridge and wrapping his fingers around two beers, “You know that, uh, half of your numbers are out of service?  I felt like I was leaving messages in the wind.”  He sat down at the decrepit dining table and twisted the cap off, eyeing his brother suspiciously.

Sam waved awkwardly.  “Yeah, I, uh… didn’t get your messages.”

Dean cocked his head.  “How come?”

“Probably because I ditched the phones,” Sam answered honestly, voice hinting at nerves.

The older was patient with him.  “Because?”

Sam inhaled deeply.  His arms flopped uselessly at his sides as he approached the table.  “I guess, um, I guess something happened to me this year.”  Weary of his brother’s reaction, he shrugged and stated it as simply as he could: “I don’t hunt anymore.”

Dean stared back at him disbelievingly before laughing a breathy, sarcastic laugh.  “Yeah,” he chuckled, “and Sasha Grey’s gone legit.”  His hand stirred the glass bottle in his hand idly as he spoke.

Sam scoffed, but dismissed Dean’s inquiry.  “Nothin’, um, she did a Soderbergh movie.”

“What?”

Dean cut off his younger brother’s repetition.  “No.  _You,_ Sam.  You quit?”

Sam nodded apprehensively.  “Yeah,” he focused on keeping his voice even, “Yeah, I… you were gone, Dean, Cas was gone, Bobby was dead.  I mean Crowley even shipped off Kevin and Meg to parts unknown.”  

“So you just turned tail on the family business?”

“Nothing says ‘family’ quite like the whole family being dead.”

“I wasn’t dead.”  Dean’s voice had hardened, become defensive.  He rose to his feet, still clutching the bottle.  “In fact, I was knee-deep in God’s armpit, killing monsters.  Which I thought is what we actually do.”  He was right next to Sam now, trying to drill a lesson in to his head.

Sam turned to face him.  “Yes, Dean, and as far as I knew, what we do is what got every single member of my family killed.  I had no one.  No one.  And for the first time in my life, I was completely alone.  And honestly, I didn’t exactly have a road map.  So, yeah, I fixed up the Impala, and I just… drove.”

Dean’s arms were crossed, his jaw squared and tight.  Though Sam had two inches on him, he felt small when met with the scrutinizing parental stare Dean was inspecting him with.  “After you looked for me,” he declared.  It wasn’t a question.  Because it was never a question; they always looked for one another.  Every single time, no matter what the circumstances, no matter what the other told them.  Sam felt the guilt he had been avoiding for the past year come crashing down on him all at once.  Here it was caught up with him in this room.  Dropping his eyes, he braced himself for Dean’s inevitable mistrust. 

“Did you look for me, Sam?” He didn’t look up.  He didn’t want to see the disappointment he knew would be prevalent on his brother’s face.  The crack in Dean’s voice had barely been there, but Sam had heard it.  He turned his head to further distance himself from it.

Something in Dean snapped.  Sam felt him shift his weight between his legs, and then saw his arms fall to his sides out of the corner of his eye.  Looking up, Sam saw the frustration he feared would be Dean’s response.

“Good,” he snapped harshly, “no, fantastic.  We always used to ignore that, because of our deep, undying love for one another.  We’re _brothers,_ and we put that above all else.  But not this time, huh, Sammy?  Bully for you.  So you’ve found your out from the family life you never really wanted and Cas has been off making friendly with the freaking Devil.  Perfect.”

Sam flinched.  “What?”  So Dean had known something about Cas.  He figured he must have based on his reaction to the angel’s name, but this was news to Sam.  He hadn’t seen much of Castiel after Dean’s apparent not-death, field-trip to Purgatory.

“Cas wasn’t there,” Dean was bordering on rage now, “I don’t know how he didn’t get pulled in with me, maybe angels are immune.  But the last day I was in there, running and fighting for my life, I heard him calling me out of nowhere.  I saw him.  He took me to this portal thing, told me that it could bring me back.  Then the next thing I know somethin’s grabbin’ hold of me, and when I wake up I’m in a forest somewhere, and Lucifer,” he breaks to laugh, “freaking _Lucifer_ is out of his cage yellin’ and screamin’ at Cas about bein’ on a suicide mission or somethin.’  I don’t know I didn’t pay much attention to their conversation, but from the looks of it they’d been buddy-buddy for a while.  Bottom line Lucifer’s out of his cage and Cas didn’t do jack squat to shove his ass back in after all we went through to lock him up the first freakin’ time.  So my own brother’s turned his back on me and now my best friend’s got it in with the Devil.  Fantastic.”  He glowered at Sam.  “And you should have been there to stop him.  Because that’s what we _do,_ Sam.  We hunt evil.” 

“I had no idea Cas was even alive,” Sam breathed, “I-I thought, if that blast killed you it must’ve killed him too.  I didn’t know.  How, how did Lucifer even get out?”

“Hell if I know!” Dean shouted to the air.  

“Okay, so,” Sam exhaled shakily.  This was bad.  If Cas had been alive, why hadn’t he sought him out to tell him that the Devil was back?  He would have gone back to the job if he’d known.  He cringed; _no,_ he realized, _I wouldn’t have.  And if Cas had shown up at my doorstep, he must’ve sensed it, too.  I was out and I was happy._ He felt the guilt weigh heavier on his heart.  _I was happy to leave all of that behind._ “Dean, I… I’m sorry.  I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, and it seems like you weren’t too interested either,” Dean snapped venomously.  Sam’s hurt expression tugged at his heart a little; he tried to calm down, but didn’t apologize.  He had a right to be angry.  

“It’s not his fault, Dean,” Came a familiar, gravelly voice.  The Winchesters looked up simultaneously to see Castiel standing under the frame separating the dining room from the living room.  His coat, which was normally a little dirty, looked like it had survived a forest fire; gray singe marks littered the dull tan, and burn holes were scattered throughout.  But he himself had a refreshing glow to him.  His skin looked healthy and his eyes were brighter than Sam remembered them.  “I purposefully kept him in the dark in regards to Lucifer’s freedom.”

Dean’s whole body tensed.  Sam saw him grasping the handle of the knife sheathed at his side.  Both of them knew a silver blade to be useless on an angel.  Dean was just reaching out for the closest weapon.  “You’d better get explaining,” he demanded. 

Castiel skipped a beat.  “Please, try to understand, without his assistance I would have been unable to retrieve you from Purgatory.”  

“Yeah and without his demons I’d have a life of beer on the beach and girls in bikinis, so if you’re about to tell me I owe him one, I don’t owe him jack.  Now talk.”  

Castiel inhaled uncomfortably.  “I don’t know how he got out of his cage.  He wouldn’t give me a straight answer.  But he helped me recover from taking on the burden I lifted from Sam’s mind.  Which I deserved after having put him in that state to begin with, but he said he wouldn’t see an angel reduced to something so pathetic.  So he aided me in my recovery.  I was weary of his intentions, and did not trust him at first, but… He did nothing.  All he ever wanted from me, in all the times we talked, was just to talk.  Often times for the simple sake of conversation.  And even after I was stable again, he only ever wanted to talk.”

“So,” Dean cut him off, “so wait.  You’re saying that he was out _before_ I went to Purgatory?  And you didn’t tell us?”

“I did knew how you would react,” Castiel explained, “and I knew that perhaps it was better that I did inform you but…” his eyes pleaded, “…Dean, I destroyed everything.  I caused so much pain on Earth but I _devastated_ Heaven.  I murdered my own kin.  My brothers and sisters.  And now those that are left feel nothing but disdain and hatred for me.  And I don’t blame them.  They have every right.  But he… he didn’t.  He forgave me.  And I didn’t want to let that go.  Angels need their siblings, Dean.  We’re not designed to handle loneliness.”

“Don’t feed me no damn sob story,” Dean snapped, “So far I’m not hearing any legit reason you didn’t gank his feathery ass on sight.”

“Dean,” Sam interjected.

“No don’t you dare go defending him, not this time.  This is too far, Cas!  Dammit man this is the Devil we’re talking about here!  Do you not forget the entire year you, me, and Sam spent hunting his ass down to throw him back in to Hell?  Do you not remember all that you did for _us,_ all the direct orders you disobeyed to help _us_ stop the apocalypse?  Do you not remember all you rebelled for?  Hell you gave me a serious beat down when _I_ forgot, so is it my turn to do the same for you?  ‘Cause I’m seriously considering it.  What did you honestly think, that he’s just here to talk?  He’s here to get that show back on the road!  And now that Heaven’s gone all to shit, he’s got the ultimate opportunity!”

“I thought so too,” Cas admitted, “but Dean, you were gone a year.  Sam was no longer hunting.  The vessel he has now is stable, and Michael, as far as I know, is still in the cage.  He would have met no resistance whatsoever.  If those were truly his intentions, don’t you think he would have acted on those plans by now?”  

Dean snorted.  “So what, your’e saying that he broke out of Hell just to talk to you?  Sit down with you for a family bonding session?”  Castiel tilted his head in confusion.

“Did you ever think that maybe he was the one that sent me to Purgatory?”  Dean accused, “that maybe getting rid of me was part of it?  How the Hell did you even get out of the way of that blast?  Or was it not the blast at all, was it him?”

“It was the God weapon,” Cas confirmed, “and it was my fault that you went to Purgatory, not his.  He forewarned me that the weapon had a backlash.  I was so preoccupied with watching the Leviathan’s death that I forgot to warn you to step back.  He pulled me away.  He tried to grab you as well, but he hadn’t seen it in time.  You were taken to Purgatory, and it was my fault, Dean.”

  The hunter only smiled an unforgiving, lifeless smile.  “He’s playing you, Cas.  I don’t know how just yet but he’s playing you.  And you’re an idiot for falling for it.”

“Dean,” Sam hissed more harshly this time.  He had felt useless for most of this conversation, unsure of whose side to take, but Dean was starting to go too far.

“No, he needs to hear it,” Dean gestured towards the angel who was shrinking more and more in to himself the longer their conversation held.  “Because the moment he lets his guard down that ass is gonna do somethin’.  He didn’t just break out of Hell _now,_ after he’s been down there for however many thousands of years, and decide he wants to have a relationship with another angel again.  No, he’s got somethin’ in the mix, and Cas is an idiot for honestly thinking otherwise.  He’s a snake, Cas.  I know that, Sam knows that, I _thought_ you knew that, but obviously you’ve still got a few screws loose up there.” 

“Dean-”

“No, I think I’ve heard enough of this.  Tell him to piss off back underground.  Until you do I don’t want to see you.”

“Dean that’s enough,” Sam said firmly, “you’re being absurd.”

“No, _I’m_ the only one here who’s being realistic.  We hunt evil, Cas, we hunt and kill anything that’s branded with hellfire.  He’s the one that fuels the freaking flame.  If you want to be all brotherly-love with the ruler of Hell fine, I can’t stop ya, but I ain’t havin’ you around if you are.  We lost _everything_ to his demons: our mom, our dad, even each other.  We were lucky enough to make it out.  They weren’t.  So you’ve gotta choose, man.  I thought we were a family.  You certainly thought so at one point, because you turned your back on Heaven for us.  I don’t know when we stopped being enough, but if we have then fine.  You just keep telling yourself that he’s not manipulating you and not using the one thing he _knows_ will be your weakness to get an in with you.”  Dean held Castiel’s gaze through his entire speech, never so much as blinking.  Castiel broke the eye contact first, fleetingly, to look at Sam, who was noticeably as conflicted as he was.  

“Dean, I’m not choosing him over y-”

“I never said you were,” Dean cut off, “I’m telling you to choose between him and us now.  Just know that if you choose him you’re putting yourself on the list of creatures we hunt.”

Sam looked at him in disbelief.  They’d killed angels.  They’d had minimal qualms about it.  But he could not believe that Dean would ever categorize Cas with them.  Cas was not like the rest of the angels.  He was how Sam had always imagined angels: pure intentions, honesty, servants of man and God.  The rest of them were douchebags with halos at best.  How could he just turn his back on Cas like that, after all they’d been through?  He wanted to voice it desperately, but words would not come.

The angel’s lips parted in shock at Dean’s cold words.  Like Sam, however, no words came out.  His eyes spoke of his guilt, his sorrow, and his betrayal.  With a defeated bow of his head, he closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”  He left.  His apology was not that he was choosing the Devil over them, but that he was sorry for having failed Dean’s expectations.  Sam could hear it, and he knew that Dean had, too.  Dean cracked his neck and flexed his hands.

“You know, Dean,” Sam said in disbelief, “for someone who was just saying that he’d lost everyone to the Devil, you sure were quick to sacrifice the only friend you have so easily.”  

Dean looked up at his younger brother.  “He’ll come around.  That wasn’t cuttin’ him out, Sam.  He knows it.  If you wanna call it somethin’ you call it tough love.  He needed to hear it.  There’s no sugarcoating somethin’ like that.  He made a bad call.  But we’ll fix it.  Like we always do.”

Sam shook his head.  “That was a lot of things, Dean.  ‘Loving’ was not one of them.  What that was was telling him that making mistakes is unacceptable.  But you know what making mistakes is?  Human.”

“He’s not human,” Dean pointed out.

“Isn’t he?” Sam asked, “‘cause I remember him bein’ pretty close to it.”

“Who’s side are you on?” Dean demanded.

“I’m not on anyone’s side!  There shouldn’t be any sides here to begin with!  When I made mistakes, we fixed them.  When I chose a demon over you, you forgave me and we worked it out.  So how is him choosing his brother - and that’s what they are Dean, they’re brothers - over his friends any worse or any more condemning than what I did?  Why is his mistake so unforgivable?”

“Are you seriously asking this?”

“Yes, Dean, I am.  Because friends are supposed to forgive each other.  So what does that make us if we won’t forgive him, his friends, or his keepers?”  Sam sighed tensely.  “You’re not dad, Dean.  You forgive people when they screw up.  Because you have to.”

Dean held his stare, but ultimately was the first to drop it.  “He’ll come around,” he repeated, then crossed the room to reclaim his beer and flop down on the dusty couch.  Sam rubbed his face with both hands, sighed again, and trod in to the kitchen in hopes of finding something edible enough to cook for supper.  Things were complicated before Dean disappeared, and so far it looked as if they were only going to get worse.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay back-to-back updates. It's been so long since I've done that. I missed churning out stories quickly. Remember when I said that there wasn't going to be any filler in this chapter, though? Turns out I lied. I needed a little more. From the way things ended last time I couldn't quite stray from the canon's storyline just yet. But this chapter isn't all filler, just enough to get it off the ground smoothly. From here it should be good to continue on its own for a while. Thanks for sticking with it.

Castiel returned to Dean and Sam, determined to make amends for his mistakes and regain their trust in that way he always felt necessary.  It was true that he had given everything for them, and now, they were all he had left.  Perhaps he could still have Lucifer, and the thought did not make him as uncomfortable as it did a year ago, but Lucifer was a gamble, a wild-card.  The Winchesters were the only consistency he knew anymore.  So he regrouped with them.  Sam seemed no different around him, and as trusting as ever.  Dean, much to the angel’s dismay, kept him at arm’s length.  Though he refused to call it distrust; extra precaution were the words that came to mind.  

Castiel found the location of the prophet Kevin quickly, but Dean did his own digging regardless.  The angel did not join them when they went to retrieve the young prophet.  He feared only more guilt at facing another he had failed to protect.  Angels were meant to protect the prophets of the Lord, but he had been so preoccupied with the well-being of the elder Winchester that he forgot his Heavenly duties.  Another shortcoming to add to his ever-growing list.  

Crowley was less simple to locate.  Warded against angels, it seemed, but still not impossible to find.  Anyone that significant, on Earth, in Heaven, or in Hell, did not have the luxury of anonymity or secrecy.  A quick interrogation of a lesser demon got Castiel Crowley’s location.  Again, Dean wanted to do his own research.  But the hesitation resulted in Crowley capturing Kevin.  Castiel did not allow his frustration to show, in fear of Dean’s refute, but he convinced Dean to let him work with them to get Kevin back.  

After Dean was satisfied with the intel he received on his own, they headed to the factory Castiel had cited in the first place.  Large, abandoned, rusting, and altogether a bit creepy, it seemed like the sort of dramatic flair the King of Hell usually preferred for a place of confinement.  Sam split from Dean and Cas to cover more ground, leaving the human and the angel alone.  Castiel did not like how unsure this left him.

They heard him through a door, first Kevin screaming, then Crowley mocking him.  The angel’s Grace stirred.  Every instinct in him was commanding him to protect the prophet.  He flexed his wings, still invisible to Dean.  The Winchester attempted to pick the lock, grunting in irritation when it would not budge.  “It’s not working,” he growled, digging his lock pick in harder.

“Dean, I’m going in,” Cas declared.

“No, we do this together or not at all,” Dean said.

“I understand that you wish to keep an eye on me, but at the moment the safety of the prophet takes precedence.”

“Yeah, and where was that mindset in the year when I was in Purgatory?”

Castiel met his eyes.  “Dormant, because I was more concerned about getting you home than looking out for a prophet that the few angels left could still have bothered to protect.”  And he disappeared, only to reappear in a fraction of a second on the other side of the metal wall.

 

Crowley turned at the sound of rustling feathers.  Castiel, the Angel of Mood-Swings and  the result of many a thorn in his side, stood before him, glowering.  He smirked.

“Castiel,” he said lightly, “Fresh from Purgatory.  Wish you’d called first.”

“Crowley,” Castiel growled, not bothering to correct him.  It was no business of his where the angel had been this past year.

“Which Castiel is it this time, I’m never sure: madman or megalomanic?” the demon quipped sarcastically.

The angel did not entertain his snide remarks, only strode over to where Kevin was seated, bloody and missing a finger.  Anger stirred inside him, but for the sake of what purity he may still retain, he quelled it.  “Kevin is coming with me,” he declared simply, and reached out to grab the prophet’s shoulder.

“Think not,” the demon challenged, “prophet’s playing on my team now.”  He smiled.  The angel’s Grace stirred more violently, every instinct now telling him to smite the filth before him.  He honestly did not know what was preventing him from doing so; after his healing session in the Fountain of Heaven, his full strength was at his disposal again.  He could take the King of Hell on with the odds in his favor.  But he decided on peace.  He had destroyed enough life.

He willed an angel blade in to his hand instead in a threat display, and waved it in the demon’s face.  Raising an eyebrow, Crowley summoned his own.  Kevin immediately stood and backed away behind Castiel.  The angel’s eyes only narrowed.  He had always thought Crowley intelligent; surely he did not honestly expect to win a knife-fight against a soldier of Heaven?

“You are kidding,” Castiel commented.

“You’ve got a good poker-face, I’ll give you that,” Crowley mused, “but I can see it plain as day.  Literally fresh from Purgatory.  Comin’ out of that would weaken anyone, even an archangel.  You might think you are, but you’re not up for this.  Not really.  It’s all very West-Side-Story, but I’ll take my chances.”

He let loose the restraints on his rousing Grace then.  Light illuminated from underneath his frail human skin, pouring from his eyes and encompassing the room.  He could feel all of Heaven with him as he let his Grace take control of the vessel.  Fear darted across Crowley’s features, but he remained in control.  “Maybe you can get it up, but you can’t keep it up,” he said simply, but his voice sounded concerned.  

Ducking his head, Castiel flexed his wings experimentally, before expanding his Grace further.  He kept his wings from manifesting, but the expansion of energy would allow for their shadows to fall along the wall behind him.  He stretched the appendages up and out, extending them to their full span and flaying the feathers.  He knew exactly how intimidating he appeared.  All demons, even the King of Hell, feared the sight of an angel’s wings.  

“You’re bluffing,” the demon snapped, but Castiel could hear his disbelief in his own statement.

The angel smirked.  Dropping his blade to the floor, he forced his Grace outwards to send the demon flying across the room.  Crowley recovered quickly, but froze in shock.  Fidgeting with the blade in his hand, he eventually collected himself enough to take a fighting stance.  Castiel’s grin only widened at the sight.  He raised his hand, ready to disarm the foul creature from a distance.  As he did so, a figure appeared behind the demon.  Castiel recognized his brother instantly, and hesitated.  

“If you don’t mind, brother,” Lucifer said smoothly, “I’d like to handle this one personally.”

Crowley spun round only to have his throat seized by the archangel, and pushed back against the nearest metal wall.  When he attempted to raise his weapon in defense, Lucifer grabbed his wrist and snapped it, letting the weapon clatter uselessly to the ground.

“Crowley, Crowley, Crowley,” he tutted mockingly, “To take on a Seraph at full power?  I didn’t think you were that stupid.  Others, sure, admittedly I didn’t create the most intelligent of species, but you?  You were always a little cleverer.  Egocentrism is one thing, but since when are you just flat out naïve?”  A taunting smirk settled on the Devil’s features.

“Lucifer,” Crowley breathed, “How… How are you even here?  I thought they locked you up for good.”  He humphed to himself.  “Guess the Winchesters’ reputation precedes them.”  

“Oh the Winchesters found a loophole, but in doing so also changed the rules of the game.  Made the cage a little weaker.  That’s irrelevant and off-topic, however.  We’re talking about you.”  

He sensed a severe discomfort in the room, and turned his head to the side.  A young man stood with his back against the grimy metal nearest the locked door.  He heard the elder Winchester on the other side, fumbling with the chains.  The human had an aura to him, an aura Lucifer had not felt in a long time: the aura of God.  His lips parted.

“It’s alright, Kevin,” he reassured the youth, “He’ll not be hurting you again.  I’ll be taking care of this frankly irritating abomination.”

“You’re one to talk,” even with the Devil’s hand around his throat, Crowley’s attitude knew no limits.  “You’re _the_ abomination, Luci.  You’re the one that started it all, the domino at the front of the line.  The only reason impurity ever came to be was because you decided to say bugger all to the essence of perfection.  Turned tail on God and the rest of your kind with fervor, even took some of your brothers down with you.  And now here we are.  So before you go talkin’ all high and mighty, like killing me will actually redeem you of anything, remember where everyone else got the idea from.”  

The Morningstar’s grip tightened, and he let his Grace energy seep through his fingers to burn the demon.  Crowley hissed in pain.  The angels were taught how to smite demons quickly and efficiently, to smother them from existence before they had the opportunity to escape.  But Lucifer had made them, and he knew how to most effectively make them suffer.  They thought they were the bringers of misery, but they knew nothing in comparison.  As this body was Crowley’s own, not a host’s, he could drag it out even longer.  

The door slammed open behind him, but he paid no mind to it.  Dean Winchester would get his attention in time.  Molecule by molecule, he ignited the demon’s smoky form that lurked beneath the skin it manifested, and roasted each cell with acute precision.  The fingers wrapped around his neck prevented the demon from screaming.  Slowly, he was set ablaze, until every part of his being was white hot with angelic Grace.  And then he dropped, lifeless, to the floor, no dramatic burst of light or energy, just an end met in the most painful of ways.  When he was finished and the demon gone, Lucifer wiped his hand nonchalantly on his shirt, giving it a quick glance to make sure he didn’t have any demon gunk on him.  That happened sometimes.  It was most unpleasant.

He looked up to find three sets of eyes on him: Castiel relieved, Kevin horrified, Dean Winchester disgusted and angry.  He offered them a polite smile.

“My apologies,” he started, rubbing his hands together, “Admittely I’ve been awaiting the chance to do that for some time now.  Afraid I may have gotten a bit carried away.”  He shifted his focus to the prophet.  “Are you alright, Kevin?”

“I-” Kevin stammered and tripped over his words.  

Lucifer glanced down at his bleeding hand.  Sympathy softened his eyes.  He kept his tone light.  “You look a little asymmetrical there, kid.  Let me see.”  He approached the prophet slowly, holding out his hand in silent request to examine the damage.

Dean stepped in front of him.  “You better back the Hell off,” he snapped.

Lucifer kept his countenance relaxed.  “If you recall, Dean, it is the responsibility of the archangels to watch over the prophets of the Lord.  Let’s do a head count: Raphael is dead, Michael is imprisoned, Gabriel is - regrettably - dead, and Metatron has not been heard from in aeons.  Many humans often forget this, particularly the most brainwashed of catholics, but I am still an archangel.  Being locked in a box for four thousand years doesn’t rob you of your species.  Now then, that filth cut off one of his fingers, likely gave him a concussion, and I happen to have the ability to heal and restore limbs.  So unless you’ve gained this ability yourself, you can let me do my job.”

“Yeah you forfeited that duty when you became Head Dick,” Dean growled, not stepping away from Kevin.

“Dean,” Castiel snapped, “Let him heal the prophet.”

“I don’t trust this slimy douchebag,” Dean growled, “You can heal him, can’t you?”

Cas squinted.  “I cannot touch him if an archangel is present.”

“Then leave,” Dean said to the Devil.

“Watch your tone, boy,” Lucifer warned, losing his patience, “It can get you in to all sorts of trouble with things more powerful than you.”

“Yeah you act as tough as you want.  Just remember that we still beat you.”

 _“We?”_ Lucifer taunted, “If I remember correctly I pounded your face in until you were barely coherent.  _You_ did nothing.  Sammy did all the work.  He’s remarkable, he really is; managed to get one over on me just long enough to waltz on over to that hole in the ground.”  He glanced around the room, “Where is he, anyway?”

Dean launched at him, reaching for the angel blade that Castiel had dropped once he had the Devil on the ground.  He heard the archangel laugh, and suddenly he was gone, leaving Dean recoiling to prevent his fist from colliding with the solid concrete of the floor. 

 The hunter leaned over his shoulder to see Lucifer by Kevin’s side and reaching out for his injured hand.  Kevin offered it with little hesitation, flinching when the Morningstar’s frigid fingers cradled his wounded limb.  Light shone from the Morningstar’s palm, and when it dimmed, the prophet had all five digits again.  He clenched and stretched his hand in bewilderment, then let his arm fall back to his side, a thankful smile on his face.  Satisfied, Lucifer strode back to where Dean was, to stand merely inches apart from him.

“Word of advice,” he mumbled in condescension, “Never stand between an archangel and his duty.”

“Noted,” Dean quipped, “Now a word of advice for you: never piss off a Winchester.  Ask any of your little garrison buddies.  We don’t care if you’re an angel or a demon or whatever.  If you’re supernatural and you’re a dick, we kill you.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened.  His jaw clenched.  “How many of my brothers have you killed undeservedly, Dean?”

“They all deserved it,” the Winchester sneered.

“You threatened to kill Castiel,” the Devil said, his voice chillingly even.  “You’d better check yourself, Dean Winchester, because my patience with you is running very, _very_ thin.”  

“You _did_ kill Cas,” Dean reminded him with a smirk, “So don’t try to play that card.  Of the two of us you’ve done the most damage here.”  

The Devil flashed his teeth in a sinister grin.  “Have I?  _Of the two of us,_ which one broke Castiel, and which one fixed him?  Which one blamed him and condemned him for his mistakes, deemed him untrustworthy, and which one forgave him?  For someone who clings to every justification he can dig out of the dirt, you seem to so easily ignore how dirty that still makes your hands.”

“Assuming we’re talking about the not-fun kind of dirty hands.”

“Now there, I definitely have you beat.”

“Lucifer!” Castiel shouted, appalled.  The Morningstar instantly wiped his countenance clean, but mischief still shone in his eyes.  He did not turn away from Dean to regard his brother.  He was having too much fun.

“Perhaps you should take the prophet home now, Dean,” Lucifer chided, “Surely his mother is worried.  As you seem so keen to take care of him, I’m sure you’d prefer that to this meaningless little quarrel.  Or are your only priorities killing monsters, and all the details can sort themselves out later?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed.  But he looked away first, towards Castiel.  “Let’s go find Sam and get out of here, okay?  Place reeks of demons.”  He looked the Devil over.  “And has-beens.”

Lucifer seized his collar as he stepped towards the younger angel.  Spinning him around, his fist cracked against the elder Winchester’s temple.  Dean fell to the ground, but caught himself and recovered quickly, re-gripping the angel blade.   

“Stop!”  Cas demanded.

“A moment, Cas,” Lucifer said smoothly, “He needs to learn some respect.”  Dean’s attempt to stab the archangel was avoided, and the Devil twisted the blade out of his hand to be tossed across the room.  Kevin was backed in to a corner again, watching the violence play out.  The Devil was a strong fighter, and Castiel could see that he was going easy, but it still made his heart ache.  Dean bent to catch his breath, and was met with a kick to the diaphragm.  He fell to the ground, wind knocked from his lungs. 

That did it.

Castiel leapt onto his brother’s back and wrestled him clear of the human.  Once back on his feet, Castiel did not hesitate.  He attacked again.  Lucifer avoided some of his throws, but not all of them.  The blows did not seem to shake him.  A slip in Castiel’s footing; he knocked one of the younger’s legs out from under him, caught him by the wrists so he would not fall, and pinned him to the wall.  

“Castiel,” he barked, “I will not watch you waste your loyalty on someone so undeserving.  You are an angel.  He should respect you.  He should at the very least treat you like his equal.  I cannot watch you enslave yourself to him.  You are an angel of the Lord, and one of the few who actually remember that!  Remember what that _means,_ brother!”

“It means I serve Heaven,” Castiel hissed.

“Yes.”

“Heaven is in ruin, and it was by my hand that it came to be so.”

“Not the first time it’s happened.  This is _fixable,_ Cas.”

“We are their shepherds.  We are supposed to protect them, not fight them.  You will not hurt him.”

“Yes.  _We_ are _their_ shepherds.  So stop being the sheep, Castiel.”

“I owe him for failing.”

“You don’t owe him _shit!”_ Lucifer checked himself, then softened his voice.  “You don’t owe anything to anyone.  But you do owe yourself the dignity of being able to hold your head high.  You made mistakes.  So you fix them.  Real friends don’t force you to wallow in the guilt of your past to make up for it.  They help you move on.  You’re backtracking with him, Cas.  He’s poisonous to you.”

Cas glowered.  “Because he’s human?”

“Because he’s Michael.  And he’ll only do to you what Michael did to me.  You do remember it, don’t you?”

Cas’s eyes reflected his memories, the haunting visuals of that day so many thousands of years ago, the day the tides of Heaven changed forever.  The Divine Kingdom’s first civil war - well, first real civil war - and Castiel had had to fight as barely a fledgling.  Lucifer remembered seeing him briefly in the ocean of battling angels.  His first real battle as a soldier of Heaven, and it had to be against his brothers.  He began to wonder if this had scarred the poor thing, made all of this possible.  

Dropping his wrists, Lucifer cupped the raven-haired one’s face.  “Don’t fall in to the same trap I did, Castiel.  Trust is necessary.  Naiveté will be the death of you.”  

The soldier’s expression steeled again.  “You will not harm him.”

The Devil sighed.  “Your attachment to him is bordering on the unhealthy, Castiel.  Even by human standards.”   

Pounding of heavy boots against concrete; Lucifer peered over his shoulder, noting that Castiel did as well.  Dean and Kevin turned to look when their ears finally detected it.  “Dean?” Came a voice.  Lucifer smiled in spite of himself.

Sam emerged in the threshold of the open door.  His mouth parted in an “O” shape.  His eyes fell upon Lucifer first, then Dean, on his knees observing the angels, then to Castiel, still trapped by the Devil, then to Kevin, who looked as if he wanted nothing more than to become one with the wall.  “What’s… what’s going on?” He asked.

Relaxing, Lucifer raised his hands in peace and backed away from Castiel.  “A lesson in self-control,” he explained, “One we were all learning together.”  He glanced at Cas momentarily before returning to meet Sam’s gaze.  His eyes were warm, his smile genuine.  Sam returned a look of indifference; it was better than contempt.  

Sam finally noticed the shell of a body by the Devil’s feet, clad in all black and alarmingly familiar.  “Is that Crowley?”

Lucifer looked over his shoulder fleetingly, then beamed at him.  “It was.”

“You killed him?”

“It was supposed to serve as a sort of peace-offering,” the Devil rubbed his hands together, “but unfortunately tensions are still high; old habits and all that.  Egos got in the way.  It was all rather messy.”  His eyes tracked over Sam’s body with acute precision.  “How are you, Sam?  Been a while.  How’d Amelia handle the break-up?”  Sam’s eyes narrowed.  “Sorry.  You don’t have to answer, I already know.  Just trying for small talk.”

“You talk too much,” Dean muttered.

“Yes but at least I think before I do,” Lucifer chimed.  

“I feel like I’m in one of those teen angst novels,” Kevin moaned from in the corner.  

Pondering his words for a moment, the Devil suddenly laughed.  “Yes, this room is starting to remind me of Twilight.  And I’m stating to feel like Edward.  Shall we?”  With a flick of his wrists, they were all standing outside the entrance to the safe house where Kevin and his mom were staying.  

“And by the way, the only reason that insult to literature ever got as far as it did was because that desperate bitch sold her soul.  You’d think she’d at least have asked for some actual talent, but no, she only asked that her vampire romance saga become a New York Times bestseller.  Well, she got what she paid for, but I doubt she expected the infamy.”  He shrugged.  “That part wasn’t our doing.  Where it goes once the deal is honored isn’t our problem.”

“Justifying cheating the system?” Dean prodded.  

“It’s an imperfect world,” Lucifer responded.

“Wonder who’s fault that is.”

“Let’s not,” Lucifer held up a hand, and nodded in Castiel’s direction.  Then he turned his focus to the prophet.  “Kevin, I’m sorry for the ordeal you had to suffer.  It was a pleasure to meet you, finally.  Will you be alright here now?”

The dazed prophet nodded once.  “So, does this mean you’re tethered to me?  Like how the tablet says?”  He noted for the first time that the object the prophet had been clinging to so desperately was the Demon Tablet.  Metatron’s distinctive handwriting littered the surface of the stone hugged tightly to the human’s chest.

He offered an encouraging smile.  “Not quite as the tablet describes.  I’m cut off from Heaven, but I still retain direct connection to the angels.  I can check in on you every now and again if you like, though.  Just to be safe.”

“No you won’t,” Dean shot down, “We can handle him.”

“Much as you’ve endured, Dean, you and Sam still have quite the on-again, off-again relationship with life.  If I didn’t know any better I’d say the horseman had a bit of a crush on you.”  He grinned to himself.  Castiel stopped his wandering thoughts before he began to jump to conclusions.

“Let me rephrase,” Dean squared his shoulders, “He’s _our_ family.  So back off.”

Lucifer sighed.  “You retain nothing, Dean Winchester.  But, as I am currently outnumbered, I’ll be the mature one and back off.”  He focused his attention on Castiel.  “Cas, think about what I said.  And don’t just replay the words in your head, really _think,_ okay?”  His eyes looked pleading, almost desperate.  And then he was gone.

Swallowing thickly, Castiel looked to Dean, whose jaw was clenched in frustration.  He narrowed his eyes at the angel before wiping his expression clean and leading the prophet inside.  Sam followed after a moment, glancing back over his shoulder when Castiel didn’t move.  He regarded the younger Winchester for a moment, but ultimately did not follow them inside.  For the first time since he met them, he genuinely did not feel a part of their family.  The only one who trusted him was someone he had been trained not to trust.  The ones he taught himself to trust, suddenly did not fully trust him.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry that this chapter was so all over the place! It felt choppy as hell to me when I was writing it but there's just no good way to smooth out having that many speaking characters in one scene. Like literally no way. Ask anyone who writes for TV, it's hard as fuck to have more than two people carry out a conversation without it feeling awkward. That's why most conversations are split up, especially during filler sequences. But there was no way to avoid it. We needed everyone to get in one room eventually. So here we have it. I'll likely revise this at some point when it's not 1:00 in the morning but I'm always eager to post once a chapter's finished. K I'm rambling. Until next time everyone.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry this update took so long; I had a fit of writer's block about halfway through the chapter. That in mind I won't waste your time up here. Enjoy the chapter! Thanks so much for getting this far!

Dean killed the engine of the Impala.  Slamming the door shut behind him, he drew his gun and walked in to the abandoned warehouse not far from Rufus’ cabin, where he had left Sam asleep on the couch.  Maybe his brother could forgive Castiel simply because “it’s Cas,” but Dean was weary of the Devil.  He wasn’t called Satan endearingly, and he still remembered all the Hell they went through to lock him up.  He wouldn’t let it be for nothing just because Cas was suddenly pining for the glory days.  Life got rough for all of them.  It didn’t give Cas the right to make such an obviously bad call.  

He flicked the light switch experimentally, pleased to discover that the place still had electricity.  He assembled all of the ingredients for the angel summoning spell, and, once they were all properly blended in the bowl, scraped a match aflame and dropped it in.  He glanced around the room, but saw no one.

“Lucifer,” He called, “c’mon, you stubborn bastard.  I just wanna talk.”  He paused, trying to sound less irritated.  “I think we ought to talk, man.  You like talkin,’ I’m ready to talk this time.”

A flutter of wings.  Dean turned at the familiar sound of an angel’s approach.  He saw the human vessel the Devil had overtaken during his attempt at frying the world, hardened expression on his face.  Amusement danced in his eyes.  “Talking isn’t enough, Dean,” he said, “You have to be willing to listen, too.”

Dean smirked.  “Fair enough.”  He flicked open his lighter and dropped it at his feet, igniting the Holy oil he had poured in a large circle where he predicted the Devil would show up behind him.  The flame spread and formed a ring around the angel quickly, trapping him.  The human had the upper hand now.  

“I’ll talk, you listen,” Dean declared.

Lucifer watched the flames spread, turning to see the ring completed.  When he turned around again, his eyes were furious, and boring in to Dean’s.  “That’s not how a conversation works, Dean.  I can see why Cas is so confused.  How often is it only you talking and expecting him to listen without then listening to him?”

“Don’t assume to know anything about me,” the hunter snapped, “or about Cas.  You don’t know shit.”

“Don’t I?” Lucifer inquired, “You’re Michael’s vessel for a reason, Dean.  ‘As it is in Heaven, so shall it be on Earth,’ as I’m aware Gabriel explained to you.  I knew Michael better than any of my brothers.  What’s that expression?  He was my better half?”  He thought for a moment.  “No, no, that’s couples.  Joined at the hip?”  He shook his head.  “Regardless, we were close.  I think I may know you better than you know yourself.”  

“Shut up,” Dean growled, “I said you’re going to listen.  I’ll keep it simple since I can see you can’t keep quiet for long.  You were a soldier, right?  Consider this a direct order: back the Hell off of Cas.  Keep away from him.  Keep away from my brother.  Keep away from all of us.  You do whatever the Hell you want.  I’ve honesty moved on from giving a crap about you, I’ve got bigger problems to deal with than you now.”

The Devil’s eyes sparkled.  “Oh?”

“Some bitch named Naomi.  She’s been trying to hunt Castiel down.  I don’t need to be worrying about two angels who won’t leave him the Hell alone.”

Lucifer scoffed.  “Naomi’s a pawn, a desperate control-freak who’s clinging to the old ways.  You haven’ seen a kiss-ass until you’ve seen Naomi.  She was always trying to get a meeting with God to tell him how well she’d obeyed His orders.  She’s not a problem, she’s an itch that keeps migrating.  I’m doing for Castiel what you won’t, I’m listening to him, trying to help him.  You want me to stay away from my family when he needs me?  You won’t see it happen.”  

“He doesn’t need you.”

Lucifer laughed.  “Why?  ‘Cause he’s got _you?  Does_ he have you, Dean?  Or do _you_ have _him?_   I’m thinking it’s the latter.  You’re a monster hunter with a God weapon at your disposal, a soldier of Heaven.  I’ll bet Cas has certainly come in handy on your hunting trips.  And yeah, he’s a soldier, so he likes to feel useful to someone on a mission, so he doesn’t outwardly mind it.  This may have escaped your notice, however, but in a human body, an angel will act awfully human, especially when they’ve inhabited their vessel as long as Castiel has.  He values your friendship, and you don’t seem to value his back.  You value his _use,_ but what happens when he actually needs you?  You tell him a human mistake he’s made is his fault when your record is far from spotless either.  You want me to just abandon him?  I won’t.  Because of you.  You’re not doing anything for him.  Someone has to help him.  So here I am.”

Dean toed the flames.  “You’re not in a position to be pissing me off, man,” he snapped, “I’ve still got half a jar left of that oil, and I ain’t afraid to pour the rest of it over you and deep-fry myself an archangel.  You stay the Hell away from all of us.  I don’t have to explain anything about myself or Cas to you.  This is what I’m offering you.  Stay away from him, or I will kill you.”

Lucifer tensed his shoulders, staring straight at Dean.  His wings, unseen to the human, were flexing and fraying at the sound of the challenge.  Glancing up a moment, he noticed the intact sprinkler system.  A grin spread across his features.  He looked down at Dean smugly, and turned the sprinklers on.  Dean jumped as water cascaded down all around them.  The Holy fire started to extinguish.

“I’d like to see you try,” the Devil sneered.  

Locking his jaw, Dean reached for the handle of the angel blade tucked carefully into the back of his pants and held it in his expert right hand.  He shifted his weight while he waited for the inevitable pounce, calculating the enemy before him.  The angel was stronger and more experienced in fighting, and most likely faster, but Dean was patient, and he was clearly not, no matter how much he pretended to be.  He was also pissed off at being cornered, so that would be clouding his judgment at least a little, and Dean was more accustomed to pushing emotions aside during a fight.  He’d just need to play on the defensive until his opponent made a mistake.  He silently hoped it would not take him too long.  

Once the flames extinguished, Lucifer surprised Dean by not springing immediately.  Instead he squared his shoulders and took a careful step to his left, attention locked on the human.  He grinned menacingly.  “Well?” He ventured.

Dean scoffed.  “Me attack first?  Wouldn’t be very strategic in this case.”

“So you are capable of thinking,” The Devil remarked, “and all this time I thought you were just a pea-brained ape.  Then again, your father raised you as a soldier, so it makes sense that you’d find your sense in this situation.  Tell me, Dean, did dad give you the full soldier training?  Purge all emotion, cold steel all the time, protect your brothers at all costs?  Or just brother, in your case.”

“Yes,” Dean growled defensively.

A flash of white teeth as the Devil’s grin broadened.  “So did mine.”

Dean laughed then, a hollow, grating sound that irritated the archangel to the point of grinding his teeth.  “Well you’ve done a shit job living up to it, then.  Starting a civil war in Heaven?  That’s your definition of ‘protecting your brothers at all costs?’  Making the demons and giving them the ability to kill angels?  That’s looking out for your brothers?  If I didn’t know any better I’d say you hated them, that you _wanted_ them all dead.  You killed Cas with a snap of your fingers a couple years ago.  You don’t give two shits about your brothers you hypocritical son of a bitch.”

The Devil lunged then, and Dean only narrowly dodged him.  Fists flew threw the air, some of which Dean blocked, some of which landed him in the shoulder or in the arm as he twisted in defense.  When Dean began to tire, the Devil increased his pace as well as the strength of each swing, until finally a poor block gave way for him to land a debilitating blow to the human’s ribcage.  Dean stumbled, winded, and Lucifer cracked the toe of his boot against Dean’s sternum.  The Winchester flopped to the ground, catching himself on shaking arms.  

“Oh, I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” The Devil hissed, and stomped down directly on the sight of one of Dean’s kidneys.  His arms gave way, and his cheek smashed against the unrelenting cement floor.  “You still haven’t learned how to pick your battles, you foolish, naive child.”  

Another kick to his side for good measure, and then he pulled him up by his hair, forcing the Winchester onto his feet again.  Dean sliced the air, trying to at least injure the angel, but his blade found no purchase.  With his free hand, Lucifer smacked the weapon out of the human’s hand.  “I know it technically evens out the playing field a little more, but this has never been a fair fight.”  He twisted the human around and caught him in a headlock.  Dean began thrashing violently, trying to free himself from the Devil’s vice-grip.  “Calm down, Dean, I’m not going to kill you.  That would not only invalidate all of Cas’s efforts of the past year, but also royally piss him off, which would set all of my own efforts back a couple millennia.  But I am going to relish in the opportunity of finally teaching your stupid ass a _lesson_ about picking fights with angels.”

He dumped the human on the ground unceremoniously then, and waited until he was on his feet again to land a blow to his stomach, then grab his head thrust it down to meet painfully with his knee.  Dean dropped to his hands and knees, trying to breathe through the pain.  His hands scraped along the ground around him, absently hoping to find the angel blade dropped somewhere near him.  Blood gushed from a split lip and trickled out his nose.  His breaths came in sharp intakes as he struggled to form them through what Lucifer’s keen ears could detect were cracked ribs.  Smug satisfaction washed over the Devil at the sight of the Winchester at his feet like this again. 

A flutter of feathers indicated an angel’s approach.  Lucifer’s eyes flicked up to spot Castiel on the opposite side of the room.  A fleeting, acute panic flashed through him, and then it was gone.  He had accepted that Castiel would be upset with him for touching the Winchester the moment he decided to spring.  Squaring his shoulders, he met his brother’s eyes.

“Castiel,” he acknowledged calmly.

Horror flowed across Castiel’s pale features before settling as anger.  Lucifer could feel his Grace stirring furiously.  “How dare you,” he sneered.

“How dare I?” Lucifer echoed incredulously.  “Cas, he summoned me here and trapped me in holy oil then threatened to set me on fire with it.  If this were a court case I think I’d be let go on self defense.”

Castiel gestured to Dean, still trying to catch his breath.  “That is not self defense.  His ribs are cracked, his nose is broken, he’s concussed, and one of his kidneys is enflamed.  That is not self defense, Lucifer, that’s assault.  I’ve asked of you repeatedly not to hurt Dean.”  His eyes narrowed.  “Enough.  Enough of all of this.  Leave me alone.”  

Lucifer’s mouth parted slightly in shock as the former soldier crossed the room to heal his friend.  He felt something inside him give at the sight of Castiel’s choice.

Pivoting in to the swing, he cracked his fist against Castiel’s temple, sending him spinning to the ground.  His face collided with the ground with a painful thud, unable to catch himself from the suddenness of the attack.  Recovering quickly, he scampered to his feet enough to lunge and tackle the Devil at his waist.  They wrestled for dominance for a long time, Castiel’s fury aiding him in strength.  When an opening presented itself, Lucifer flipped Castiel onto his back and pinned him by the wrists, sitting on his hips to trap him between his knees.  

“This is appalling, Castiel,” Lucifer growled, “How can you choose him over your own family?”

“You’re not my family!” Cas shouted.

“I am the only one of our brothers who still accepts you and _still_ you turn me away in favor of some ungrateful, selfish, broken, insignificant ape!  I have tried to be patient with you Castiel but fucking Hell you’re honestly still as delusional as when I found you in that hospital.”

“Let me go!” Cas fought desperately to throw the Devil off of him.  It was no use; his grip was still superior.

Even in a different context, the words still stung.  He shook it off.  “No,” he growled sternly.  

He felt the solider’s Grace stirring furiously beneath him.  It radiated strength and determination and white-hot anger.  He cocked his head; Grace was warm, but it was not hot.  Yet Castiel’s temperature was definitely rising.  Pulsations erupted from under the fail skin.  His eyes flicked up to the angel’s blue eyes, which where open and tight in concentration.  A faint glow, growing brighter with each pulse, emanated from them.  Lucifer’s eyes widened in horror.

“Cas don’t-” The floor on either side of him singed with the faint outline of Cas’s wings.  He changed his sentence.  “-Dean, shield your eyes!”

For a moment all the Morningstar could feel was heat.  Hatred was the next feeling to register; not his own, but Castiel’s, used as a weapon to hurt and possibly kill.  His vessel blisters and burns from the intensity of the flash.  His wings, not manifested and normally safe from harm, were not beyond the reach of an angel’s flared Grace, and he felt many of his feathers singed clean off the skin.  It was all over in an instant.  But his own pain barely registered to him.

When the white-hot flash dissipated, Castiel was still, his face stoic and his muscles relaxed.  Lucifer picked himself up from where he had been tossed by the intensity of the younger’s Grace an scrambled to his side, searching desperately for any signs of life.

“Cas,” he called after healing his vessel’s vocal chords, “Castiel.”  

The light had not retreated back in to the vessel, it merely spread throughout the room.  That was bad.  Hyper-expansion of an angel’s Grace was a last resort, a unique ability that, when done properly, was powerful enough to kill any enemy, even Leviathan.  In training it was taught only in theory, never demonstrated nor practiced because of its potential outcomes.  An angel’s Grace was their life force, and “flash flooding” it, as they referred to it, often resulted in the angel’s death.  Rate of expansion and a lack of proper control over the force of the flash caused all of the bound energy to escape itself and be released back in to the world.  Even now Lucifer could still feel an electricity in the air.  He cupped his brother’s face.

“Castiel,” he pleaded, voice threatening to crack, “Come on, wake up.  Wake up.  Don’t you dare die on me like this.”

Dean dropped the arm he had used to cover his eyes to look at his friend.  “What happened?  What did he do?  What do you mean he’s dead?  Can’t you bring him back?”

“Not from that,” Dean had never heard the Devil sound so broken, “There’d be nothing to bring back, he’d just be gone.  Cas, dammit, wake up, pull yourself together!”  The pun was lost to him.  He needed his brother to wake up.  The skin beneath his hands was cold, and if there was an energy beneath the still shell, he could not feel it.  He hoped that was just the result of burnt-out receptors in his vessel and a Grace that felt like it had a nasty hangover.

The vessel’s chest expanded with a sharp intake of air, and then the piercing blue eyes opened.  Lucifer felt a stirring of energy beneath it; weak, but still there, kicking back to life.  He ducked his head and released the breath he had been holding.  Relief washed through his entire body and resonated down into his Grace.  

“Cas, you absolute fool,” he breathed almost fondly.  “That could have killed you.  You know there’s no coming back from that.”

Cas’s eyes shifted as he recovered from the haze.  “Dean,” he croaked.

“Dean’s fine,” Lucifer reassured him softly, “he covered his eyes in time.  I’m impressed, actually.  First time he’s ever listened to me.”  He reached out to pet Cas’s hair.  If he minded he made no effort to stop it.  

“You warned him?”

“Cas, you berated yourself for a year after he wound up in Purgatory, when that wasn’t even your fault.  I can’t even begin to imagine what it would have done to you if you had actually killed him just now.  At least you had an intended target, and weren’t just flooding as much as you could reach.”  He adjusted himself so he could stroke his brother’s hair more comfortably.  His vessel was still repairing itself.  

Castiel sat upright, groaning as he did.  Lucifer guided him up, moving his hand out of his hair to rest supportively on his back.  Cas jerked away from the touch and stood, ignoring how weak he felt.  

“Leave me alone,” he repeated.  He strode to Dean’s side, where he touched a finger to his forehead to heal his injuries.  Once Dean had his breath back, he stood as well.  

“Cas,” Lucifer called, still seated on the scorched floor.

“I meant what I said, Lucifer, I’ve had enough of this.  You say that I am free to choose my own path now, and this is the one I choose.  I am still their shepherd, and I still want to help Dean, because he still stood beside me when I asked him to.  You talk and you make empty promises but I’m done listening to it all.  So just let it go.”

The Morningstar’s expression dropped.  He felt an aching in his chest; not his Grace, something of his vessel’s.  “I can’t,” he almost pleaded, “Don’t you see, Castiel?  I can’t.  I let them all down.  And now here you are, and you’re well on your way to making the same mistakes I did, and I won’t let that happen.  I won’t let you lose Heaven, too, not the way I did.  You need your brothers.  I’ve lived so long without them and I’ve figured out how, but that doesn’t mean you should.  Because it _hurts,_ Castiel, it hurts to lose them.  So much.  And I can’t see that happen to anyone else.”  He swallowed thickly.  “Especially not you.”

The sentiment didn’t register with the soldier, but Dean picked it up.  The Devil’s entire visage had changed.  The arrogance was gone, the confident stance and the mischievous glint in his eyes.  He looked almost small from his position on the floor, legs tucked underneath him, shoulders slumped, looking up at Castiel as if he were the only thing that mattered in the universe.  Though his features were relatively schooled, his eyes gave away his desperation.  And the way he had hesitated, as if he wanted so desperately to say those words but feared Cas’s response… 

He glanced at Castiel, whose jaw was tight with frustration.  “I’m done playing these games.  I’m not your pawn.”

Lucifer fidgeted nervously.  “They were never games, Castiel.  There was never a trick.  But it’s okay.  This is the path you’ve chosen, and I’ll respect that.  I just hope that you’ve made this decision based on objectivity, and not impulsivity.  That was my first mistake, all those years ago.  I mistook countless hours of frustrated thoughts for clear, objective reasoning, and look what’s happened.”  He met his brother’s gaze again and held it.  Silence hung in the air between them to punctuate his sincerity.  “But I meant what I said, too.”  

His eyes shimmered, and then he was gone.  No dramatic exit, barely even a flutter of his wings.  He left almost as silently as he arrived that first night he found Castiel in the human sanitarium.  Cas glanced around, taking in the absence of Lucifer’s Grace, and noted that he no longer felt a presence in his mind, either.  He felt alone.  It was yet to be decided whether this felt good or bad.

Dean exhaled heavily.  “Well, that was… You okay, man?”

Cas ducked his chin.  “Yes.”

“What did you do, anyway?  That bright light, I mean.”

“I flooded my Grace, used it as a weapon against him.”

Dean raised his eyebrows.  “You can actually do that?”

“I’ve done it a few times, though not quite like that.  That sort of sudden pulse is normally reserved as a means to an end only.  It’s very easy to die from it.”

“He said he couldn’t bring you back from that.”

“No.  The explosion of energy is so powerful and sudden that sometimes the energy can’t regroup, can’t find it’s way back in to the vessel.  It just gets lost.  There’s no coming back from that.  You burn out.”

The Winchester regarded him for a moment.  “So why’d you do it?”

Cas turned to meet his eyes.  “Because he hurt you, and I knew it would effectively harm him back.  Because he threatened you and that was the only way to prove to him how serious I am about him backing off.  I admit that I had begun to trust him, Dean, but that was conditional upon his promise that his intentions were pure.  He lied, and I’m sorry the proof of that came in the form of him hurting you.  But I’m done listening to him.  You were right.”

Dean smiled warmly, and patted Cas on the shoulder.  “Yeah, I always am.  C’mon, let’s get out of here.  I’ve got the Impala outside so we’ve gotta drive.  You can ride shotgun this time if ya like.”

Cas smiled affectionately back.  Following Dean out of the decrepit warehouse, he glanced fleetingly over his shoulder at where the scorch marks of his wings lay singed onto the dirty floor.  Then he turned back around and squared his shoulders, lengthening his strides to catch up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Warning: long ramble to follow)  
> As you may have noticed, I've set the chapter count to a certain amount now. I'm rather excited (and a little sad) to inform you all that I've got a good chunk of the plot outlined from here until the end, which is helping tremendously with keeping my writing consistent and on track. But that also means that there is an end in sight and I'm going to start building up to it. It's as exciting to think about as it is upsetting because I've really enjoyed seeing this story evolve and take shape, and now all that there is left to do is fill in the details on the outline, more or less. The way it's looking right now you can expect at least 4 more solid 4,000 word chapters out of me before I wrap this thing up. So the number I have set right now is only an approximation; we may still get more. Try not to get too upset ;) And of course a huge thank you to everyone who has made it to chapter 13 and taken the time out of their day to leave a comment! You're all my motivation for keeping this thing going :)


	14. Chapter 14

Castiel picked himself up off the forest floor.  He felt weak.  His muscles shook with the effort.  It was not an unfamiliar feeling, but it was one he had hoped never to feel again.  His gaze turned upwards, and he regretted it almost immediately.  The forest parted not too far ahead; he walked towards the clearing.  Once there, his horrors were confirmed:

The angels were falling.

The urge to fall to his knees consumed him.  What a human reflex, to fall to one’s knees in the face of defeat.  And that’s what this was.  He had failed.  Was a failure.  An absolute failure.  He had made mistakes in the past but this, this was absolute.  This was at the top of the list.  Once again, he had trusted so resolutely, so naively, he could not see just how much of a pawn he was in someone else’s hand.  The angels, his brothers and sisters, were now being expelled from their home because of him.  Because of his ignorance.  What had only been his desire to help had fueled… this.  Failure.  

He did not fall to his knees.  Instead he walked.  A road appeared under his feet soon, and he followed it.  He didn’t know where it lead, but he didn’t care.  Every effort he ever made to fix his mistakes only yielded more mistakes, so he would not this time.  This time he would turn his back.  He was human now.  Heaven was the responsibility of the other angels now.  He could not defeat Metatron on his own.  His Grace was gone, erased, used in a spell, and he didn’t care anymore.  So he followed the road, and when he got tired he would rest, and when he awoke he would keep walking.  He would travel until he collapsed from exhaustion and never awoke again.  And this was alright with him.

 ***

After he dismissed Lucifer, Castiel still half expected to hear from him.  He expected a follow-up at least, some sort of attempt to get back on his good side.  At the very least, he expected to still hear his brother inside his head.  He heard nothing.  He felt nothing.  It was as if Lucifer were back in the pit, and none of it had happened.  In a way Castiel felt better.  So why did some small part of him yearn for his brother to attempt to make amends?

When he left with Dean that night, they met up with Sam.  He decided that since he was an outcast of Heaven and had only the Winchesters, he wanted to join them and become a hunter.  Dean was weary of the thought; Sam seemed supportive enough. With Crowley smote, their jobs certainly got a little easier as far as demons were concerned.  Hell was a mess in terms of management, as was Heaven, so while they did not have any schemes to put up with, there certainly were more than a few demons on their tails now that Crowley had no pull.  He stayed with them for a while, but in the end the call of a young angel named Samandriel drew him away from them.  

He had known that Heaven was a mess, but what Samandriel described to him, about Naomi’s corruption… He wanted to be surprised, but the angels’ capacity for insanity had stopped surprising him long ago.  With God and the Archangels gone, they did not know how to compose or lead themselves, and he had set a poor example for them.  Naomi’s brutality did not stun him beyond reason.  It just made him sad for his brothers.

In the end though, Naomi was nothing compared to him.  He devastated Heaven, and even hurt the humans substantially during his Leviathan episode.  Once their shepherd, he slaughtered them by the dozens, his brothers by the hundreds.  This time, though, he wiped out every angel in one swift motion.  Indirectly, yes, but he was still involved.  All because he had not seen.  He hoped Samandriel was okay, that he did not die during the fall.  Samandriel was still a fledgling in many ways.  The idea of him being gone so early was disturbing.  The idea of any of them, young or old, being burned alive as they fell to Earth, their wings catching flame and their Graces burning out… He couldn’t think about it just yet.

He didn’t know how, but the Winchesters eventually found him.  They were in their bunker now, trying to strategize and hopefully think of a way to restore Heaven.  Castiel still had little hope.

“So, Metatron seriously used your Grace?” Sam asked, brow knitted in confusion.  Castiel nodded once.  “How is that even possible?  I thought it was kind of, like, your life force.”

“You lost your soul once,” Castiel reminded him, “In many ways an angel’s Grace is like a human soul.  It grants us our power.  Our wings are an extension of it, like how your spinal cord is an extension of your brain.  That is why many of the angels’ wings caught flame; they were being cut off from Heaven, and therefore their Graces were weakening.  Not enough to make them completely powerless, but enough to make their wings more vulnerable.  It’s possible to take away from us without killing us, and Metatron knew how.”  

“Okay, so, is there any way to get it back?”  Dean asked.  

Castiel sighed.  “I am unsure.  It was used in a spell.  Its energy was most likely used up, dispelled.  I sincerely doubt it will be possible to restore.”  A thought flickered through his mind.  “But… There is a possibility of getting me a new one.”

“A new one?  What you sayin’ Heaven’s got a cupboard full of Graces?” Dean asked sarcastically.

“Not exactly.  But there is a fountain, in the center of God’s Palace.  It is… well, it is difficult to explain exactly what it is because it is many things all at once, but it could restore me as an angel.  Assuming it doesn’t kill me.”

“So it’d either get you a shiny new pair of wings or kill you?”  Dean snorted.  “Awesome.”

“Once you were at full power again, do you think you could take on Metatron?” Sam asked.

“No,” Castiel admitted honestly, “He’s not an Archangel, but he was ranked with them.  He’s much more powerful than me.  Even fresh from the Fountain’s waters I would likely not be able to overpower him.  That’s of course assuming we could even get in to Heaven and get to it before he killed us all.”

“Well, we’d kind of have to be dead to get in to Heaven, wouldn’t we?” Dean joked.  

A half-smile cracked on Castiel’s lips.  “Yes, I suppose we would, now that I cannot grant you both access.  The only way through those gates would be to die.”

“Not like we haven’t done that before,” Sam remarked, “Think we’d still get a ticket upstairs?”

“You two, perhaps,” Cas sighed.

“Hey man,” Dean’s voice had dropped to its serious register, “You didn’t know.  Metatron had us all fallin’ for his bookworm crap.  You just wanted to help your family.  How were any of us supposed to know that he wanted the whole house to himself?”

“He has lived on his own all these centuries and he has enjoyed it,” Cas said, “He turned his back on his work, his brothers, and Heaven.  No one heard from him in millennia.  He did not seem depressed when we found him.  I should have sensed that his desire to suddenly return and help was suspicious.  There were many wars in Heaven during his time away.  Why would he have a change of heart now, unless he wanted something?  I should have seen it.  I have been so blind for so long.”  His head dropped to stare at his hands, hanging limp in his lap.  

Sam sighed and let his hand fall to slap the table.  Books cluttered the large surface, ones that they had all sorted through trying to find the spell that Metatron had used and hoping to find some sort of counter-spell or even find the rest of the ingredients and incantations for the spell to give them an idea of exactly its reach.  They had found absolutely nothing.  

“Okay, so,” Sam voiced his thoughts aloud, “We’ve got an unknown spell, with an unknown and possibly nonexistent counter, a Fountain somewhere in Heaven that could restore Cas’s Grace but no way of reaching it and no way of knowing if he could still take him on afterwards.  We’ve also got a lot of angels that want to find Cas and get even for inadvertently kicking them out of Heaven.  Did I miss anything?”

Castiel fidgeted.  “I hate to be the one to say it, but, there is one factor we haven’t yet considered that could possibly ‘tip the scales’ as you say.”

“Oh?” Dean asked skeptically.

“…Lucifer-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Dean snapped.

“Dean,” Sam held up a hand, “Just let him talk.”

Cas paused, unsure if he should.  Finally, he kept going.  “The spell was designed to dispel all angels from Heaven.  But Lucifer has been disconnected from Heaven for aeons.  It is possible that the spell had no effect on him.  And he is substantially more powerful than Metatron.”

“You’re saying we should ask _the Devil_ for help?” Dean said.

“I’m saying we have limited options and limited allies,” Castiel explained.  “In all those months that Lucifer and I were… acquainted, he wanted only to help me.  The only price he seemed interested in was my kinship.  If we go to him, there is a possibility that he will help, and for little other than my company.”

“You really think he’d give it up just like that?” Dean asked incredulously.

“I think he’s lonely,” Castiel answered honestly, “And I think, despite everything, he still loves and misses his brothers and his home.”

“Dean,” Sam said, “I hate it as much as you do, but we don’t have a lot of options here.  If Cas really thinks that Lucifer can defeat Metatron, that should come first.”

“And what about restoring Heaven?”  Dean asked.

“He may be familiar with the spell.  The Archangels have direct contact with God; or had, I suppose I should say now.  Either way they know more about the workings of Heaven.  Metatron had to learn or hear about that spell from somewhere.  And if he knows it, surely the Archangels did.  Metatron left before Lucifer was cast into Hell.”

Sam rolled his shoulders and looked to Dean, who was tensed and very visibly angry.  “I don’t like this,” Dean gritted out through clenched teeth.

“Neither do I, but it might be our only shot.”  Sam concurred honestly.  He looked at Castiel now.  “He told me once that he’d never lie to me.  How good do you think his word is?”

“An angel and his vessel are connected.  Not only would he never, but he cannot lie to you anyway.  If he somehow managed to, you’d be able to sense it.  You have a direct line to him.  I’m sure you’ve noticed a sort of tingling every time you’ve been in his presence.”  Sam nodded once.  “As I said, you and him are connected.  So no, he would not lie to you because you would sense it.  His words, when spoken to you, are trustworthy.”

Sam smiled.  “So should I do the talking?”

A loud smack echoed through the space.  “Are you two freaking serious right now?”  Dean demanded.  Both sets of eyes flickered quickly to his balled fist on the table; the source of the noise.  “Are you forgetting that he started the freaking apocalypse and made our lives a living Hell for a whole year?  He nearly beat me to death in _your_ body, Sam, and he tricked you into letting him in.  He’s a monster and a con artist and he’ll only screw us over in the end just like every supernatural freak we’ve ever decided to trust because it seemed like the ‘only option’ at the time.  I’m tired of getting burned by these guys because we’re desperate.”

“He’s been back for how long?”  Sam reminded him,  “I don’t see another apocalypse happening.  Well, not _that_ apocalypse, anyway.  If he wanted to get that show back on the road don’t you think he would have done it by now?  Especially with no more angels to stop him?  If Michael got out with him he’s sure been quiet about it, and if he went straight back to Heaven he’d be a bit useless right now.  So he’s had a huge freaking opportunity these past few weeks and yet nothing seems to be in motion.  I don’t think he’s interested in that storyline anymore.  I think he was focusing on Cas because he was bored and yeah maybe wanted a little familial company.  These guys are big into family, Dean.  Maybe he will help just because Cas asks him too if he was so desperate to get into his good graces before.”

“I still don’t like it,” Dean growled.

“Okay, you got a better idea?” Sam snapped, “Because we’ve been here for hours going through all these books, and before that you and I did some digging around.  We’ve got _nothing._ But we’ve potentially got an Archangel that we can ally with and you’re not even going to think about it?  If he’s got a soft spot for Cas that’s even better than him always being honest with me.”

Dean clenched his jaw.  “Yeah and what if his conditions for helping us require him getting his true vessel?  Where will we be then, Sammy?  We just gonna let him wear you to the prom if he promises to give you back after?  He’s the freaking _Devil,_ he practically invented lying.  I’m sure he’d find a loophole in any arrangement we made with him.”

“If he asks for that then I’ll say no,” Sam said.

“And if he does ask for that then we’ll be right back at square one,” Dean pointed out.  “That’s the only real payment I can see him asking for and there’s no way he does this for free.  So why bother going to him at all?”

“Because it’s better than doing nothing,” Sam said, “And right now, nothing’s what we got.”  

Dean drummed his fingers on the tabletop.  After a full minute of silence, he finally released an exasperated sigh.  Getting to his feet, he made for the kitchen.  “If we’re gonna go through with this I’ll need to be thoroughly drunk to be okay with it.”

Sam just shook his head, an understanding smile on his face.  “So,” he said to Cas, “How do we find him to talk to him?”

“He always found me,” Castiel answered.  “But I could try calling for him.  Maybe praying to him.  It’s not like I can search for him like I used to.” 

Sam’s smile faltered a little bit.  “You really sure about this, man?”

“More sure than I was of my association with Metatron.  I know I have not proven myself the best judge of character, but Lucifer in our time together never gave me any reason to doubt his loyalty.  His care for me is genuine.  The last time I saw him, he promised me he would still be there to listen if I ever decided I wanted to go back to him.  Hopefully he was being honest.”

Sam nodded.  “Whenever you’re ready then, I guess.”

Castiel smiled faintly, and glanced briefly in the direction Dean had left.  “I think I’ll allow Dean a little more time to get inebriated.”  

 *** 

They decided on the dungeon for the meeting spot.  Castiel entered first, flanked by Sam and Dean, both armed with an angel blade each just in case.  With Castiel human now, neither of them were taking any chances that the Devil attempted to kidnap him or worse.  They closed the doors and painted an angel banishing sigil on the door with blood as an extra precaution.  Castiel insisted that they not completely cornered him though, so the holy oil was left out of it.  Once settled, Castiel called for him.  After a verbal request did nothing, he decided to pray.  

A flutter of wings sounded from in front of Castiel.  He felt Dean tense to his right, Sam shift a little nervously to his left.  Lucifer’s eyes met his as he opened them, shimmering with concern.  Outwardly, he projected amusement.  But Castiel could see the worry behind them.  _How far you’ve fallen, you poor thing,_ they said to him.  To be honest, the sympathy warmed him.  

“Evening,” the Devil greeted.  He moved his head to take in the room.  “Kind of gloomy meeting place, wouldn’t you say?  Though a bit more well-kept than the last location you chose for a chat, eh Dean?”  He smirked at Dean’s lack of response.  Clearly, whatever was going on, they had told Dean to leave the talking to Sam and Cas.  At least they were thinking strategically.

“Did you feel it, Lucifer?”  Castiel asked, getting off his knees.

Lucifer met his gaze again.  “How could I not?”

“You know about the angels getting thrown out of Heaven then?” Sam asked.

“Of course I do,” Lucifer said, “I imagine every supernatural creature felt it, pure or evil or otherwise.  The humans chalked it up to a meteor shower, but you lot have been disconnected from the world around you for a while now.  Hardly surprising none of you felt it.  It would have been small anyway.  Just an… unsettling sort of feeling in your chest as Heaven screamed and screamed and screamed.  That was a powerful spell.  Who cast it?”

“Metatron,” Castiel answered solemnly.

Lucifer’s eyebrow arched.  “He’s back?”

“He… sought me out.  I thought we were working to close the gates of Heaven so that we could keep all of the problems of Heaven contained and work out all of the issues with our brothers.  Those were not his intentions at all.”

“He used your Grace for the spell.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

Sam tilted his head back.  “Is there any way to reverse the spell?”

Lucifer looked up at him.  “Not that one.  A counter was never made.  Frankly I don’t know why it was invented in the first place.  I think God made it as a fail-safe in case the angels ever went rogue.  I know there were talks of Him using it in a targeted manner in order to expel me and my army during the war.  But he never ended up using it; probably scared He couldn’t enhance it to target only the rebels.”

“God couldn’t control his own spells?”  Sam asked lightly.

“Spells are tricky.  Once they’re made they become their own source of energy, separate from His powers.  In that instance, a spell would have been far less exhausting to use, but making them at all is complicated and time-consuming, and at that stage of the war he certainly didn’t have time.  This is all trivia though.  I’m assuming you called me here for more than just information?”

“Help,” Castiel said.  “We want your help in defeating Metatron.”

Lucifer regarded him.  “What is there to defeat?”

“He is the only one still left in Heaven.  We need to overthrow him and find a way to restore whatever angels are left,” Castiel explained.

The Devil thought for a moment.  “I think it makes for an interesting change of command, actually.  Metatron’s a clever one.”  

“There is no command, there is only Metatron,” Castiel’s voice was getting desperate.  “The rest of our brothers and sisters have been forced out of their home.  They are scrambling to acquire vessels so that they might survive but what are they to do?  They are still angels so they will not simply die and return to Heaven but they have no way back.  You told me that you still cared about them.  About all of them.  Please, will you help us get them back home?”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed at Castiel’s use of “us.”  The former angel’s fists clenched nervously at his sides.  The complexities of language were still new to him, but he imagined something in his wording was putting Lucifer off.  “I thought the Winchesters did not care for the angels.”

“We don’t,” Dean spoke up.  Sam shot him a look, but he kept on.  “But it’s better than having them down here.  The angels belong in Heaven so we want to get them back up there.”

“So it’s not that you honestly care for them,” Lucifer accused, “It’s just that you find them annoying and an inconvenience.  Having them in Heaven is better than having to live with them on Earth, right?”

“They’re hunting Cas,” Sam interjected.  “They think he knew all along what Metatron did and helped him willingly.  We want to keep him safe as well as get the angels back home.”  

“Oh, do you honestly think I’d let any of them hurt him?”  Lucifer’s eyes had not left Castiel.  “I know I’ve been a bit distant but ever since the angels fell I’ve been lurking in the shadows.  I imagined one or two of them might decide to take up the opportunity to settle some old scores.  I know a few of them have gotten a bit too close for comfort, but I was never going to let them harm you.  You really think I would, after the two years we had together?”  His eyes sparkled.  “I made you a promise that night in the woods that I’d never let anything hurt you, not even yourself, and I’ve kept to it.  And you consented to that.  You’ve been mine ever since that night, Cas.”

“Since what night?”  Dean demanded.

“The night you were sent to Purgatory,” Lucifer explained, “As he probably explained to you by now I was the one that pulled him out of the blast zone.  Soon as he was free of it he tried to kill me, thrust a knife into my head.”  Lucifer grinned.

_“Don’t,”_ Castiel pleaded in silent prayer.

“…Let’s just say that wasn’t the thrusting that he ended up following through on,” Was all the Devil said.  Castiel ground his teeth but did not say anything in fear of bringing any more attention to the subject.

“Will you help us?”  Castiel asked.

Lucifer’s eyes darted between his brother and the elder Winchester.  “You took away my ability to fulfill that promise, Dean Winchester,” he growled.

“You just said you still kept it,” Dean said.

“Because I keep the promises I make, but I had to do so from afar.  _You_ forced him to choose between his family and a couple of humans.  He could not have your friendship if he continued his association with me.  And the only reason you forced his hand like that is because you know he’d choose you.  I’m not upset with him for choosing you, but I’m upset with you for forcing that on him.  And what are you and Sammy fighting for, exactly?  You’re not on the side of the angels, you’re on your own sides, as usual.  You’re not looking to benefit the angels and return them to where they belong, you’re looking to get rid of them like they are pests who have invaded your territory.  Your reasons are not noble and they certainly are not with the best interests of Heaven in mind.  So why the Hell would I offer you my help?”

“Because they’re your brothers,” Sam said, “And you told Cas that you still cared about them.  Who cares what our intentions are, what would matter if you helped us would be yours.”

Lucifer sighed.  “I do care about my brothers, very much.  But if they knew of my resurrection they would not ask for my help either.  I care for them, but they don’t care for me.  They haven’t for a long time.”

“I care for you,” Castiel said, his voice sounding very small.  He could feel Dean bristle at that from behind him.  “Help _me,_ Lucifer, help me make things right, just as you told me you would months ago.  Sam and Dean will merely assist us.  Do not think of it in aiding them.  Just help _me.”_ His voice caught on his next words as he asked, “Please, brother.”

Lucifer regarded him for a moment.  Castiel could see him honestly considering his plea.  But then his eyes shifted to land on Dean, and his composure changed.  “Dean is not happy about  this arrangement at all,” he noted, “I assume he was not exactly on board with the idea of asking me for help when it was first pitched?”

“I’m goin’ through with it, aren’t I?” Dean barked.

“With the help of some Dutch courage, yes,” Lucifer remarked, “But you still don’t trust me.  You’ve made sure to keep your angel blade and that banishing sigil in full view, while Sammy has left his tucked in his belt.”  

He looked to Castiel again.  “I’m sorry, brother, but I will not ally myself with an unwilling party.  It makes for poor cooperation and working conditions.”  His eyes sparkled, as if he were refraining.  “It was so nice to see you again.”  And then he was gone.

Dean turned on his heel and pulled the doors open without skipping a beat.  “So now what?”  He demanded as he stormed out of the dungeon.  “Turns out he doesn’t even _want_ to help us.  What have we got now?”

Sam ran a hand through his hair as he followed his brother, taking a seat at the table again.  “I guess we just keep digging through the Men of Letters’ records.  Maybe if we’re lucky we can find something on a back door in to Heaven, like there was for Hell.”

“That back door was through Purgatory,” Dean grumbled, “I wonder where the back door to Heaven will be through.”

“If there is one at all,” Castiel sighed, “And that’s of course assuming that Metatron doesn’t know about it and hasn’t blocked it already.” 

Sam rested a sympathetic hand on the fallen angel’s shoulder.  “We’ll find a way, Cas,” he offered warmly, “We always do.”

He nodded at the younger Winchester, but said nothing.  The brothers left the dungeon, Dean fiddling with his angel blade and mumbling under his breath.  Castiel stayed where he was for a moment, letting the light from outside fill the somber chamber.  

_You’re all I have left,_ Cas thought.  He felt his vessel - or his body, he supposed he must call it now - beginning to tear up, and fought the urge to cry.  _Don’t abandon me, brother.  Not when I have let our kin down again._

When he lifted his head, he was no longer in the bunker, but in the meadow where their relationship had first started to rekindle itself.  Lucifer was standing, hands in his pockets, warm smile on his face.  He approached the younger angel with a confident stride, taking one of Castiel’s hands in his own.

“My dear Castiel,” He said fondly, “I’ve told you.  I’m never abandoning my family again.”  

The fallen one smiled weakly, and let Lucifer pull his head forward to rest on his shoulder.  The hand massaging his scalp felt wonderful after the stress of all he’d let happen.  “What have I done, Lucifer,” he whispered, his voice that of a defeated martyr.

“Nothing that can’t be undone,” The Devil comforted, wrapping his free arm around the smaller man.  Castiel mimicked the motion.  If they remained like that for long, he did not notice, nor did he care.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert obligatory apology for how long it's taken me to update this fic here*  
> No but seriously I'm taking a fucking vacation from this fic after this chapter god damn this one was torturous to write. Enjoy it because it kicked my ass.

Castiel did not remember granting his vessel permission to produce fluids.  He barely remembered resting his head against his brother’s shoulder.  Or had Lucifer pulled him in to the embrace?  It did not matter.  It was welcome.  And he felt loved.  After the past few years, being hunted and ridiculed and despised and murdering their kin… so many of his brothers dead… The embrace was oh so welcome.  Castiel wrapped his arms around Lucifer.  It was that movement that brought his attention to the fact that his brother’s shirt was now damp.  Tears, from his own body, dampening the fabric.  Making it smell of salt and sadness and crushing, bitter failure.  

He felt a hand rubbing his back.  It felt lovely.  “It’s alright, little brother,” the voice of Lucifer’s vessel spoke to the air, but he felt his real voice in his soul, the one of his elder, the archangel, the valiant soldier.  What a beautiful voice it was.  How he had longed to hear it again.

“Lucifer,” his body’s voice gasped, his throat constricted and hoarse.  

“I’m here, Cas,” he heard and felt, “I’m still here.”

“I’ve killed,” Castiel sobbed, “so many of our brothers, Lucifer.  And now I’ve banished them all from their home.  They’re probably scared, so scared, or injured, or worse.  Oh God, how many of them must not have made it… I saw their wings burning…”  He felt his legs shaking, and then they were sinking, Lucifer pulling him down to the ground to kneel.  He wrapped his arms tighter around the Devil.  “How,” he cried, “How did you ever deal with it?  How did this feeling never destroy you?”

“I never forgot who I am, _what_ I am,” the Morningstar answered truthfully.  “I am an archangel, Heaven’s mightiest weapon, a son of God, and a good son.  I fulfilled my purpose as given to me by our Father.  He wanted me to rebel, and I did.  He wanted Hell, Castiel, and do you know why?  Did anyone ever explain it to you?”  Castiel shook his head into his brother’s shoulder, taking fistfuls of the soft cotton.  “Because this planet was promising, and there needed to be a balance.  Good cannot exist without evil; it simply cannot be.  That’s why there are the Horseman, that’s why there is a God.  They are all as old as one another, they came in to being at the same time.  Because there needs to be a balance, Castiel.  Leaving home hurt, the war that ensued was devastating, my punishment was crippling, but I knew that it needed to be, that my suffering was not without purpose.  Our Father wanted mankind to be free, and with freedom comes choice and opportunity.  If they wanted to use their freedom for evil, that was their choice, but it would come at a price.  If they walked a righteous path, they would be rewarded by Him with access to his kingdom.  He spoke to me in Hell, Castiel, and he told me all of this.  That is why I do not hate Him.  But it took me until my reunion with you to remember that conversation, to remember my path.  Because I think He has set you on a similar one.”

“What do you mean?”  Castiel whimpered.

“Finishing what I started,” Lucifer explained, “Our Father is gone.  I do not feel him, and the archangels can always feel him.  We have a direct line to His power.  It’s where ours comes from; not the fountain, but Him directly.  That’s why I never lost mine.  I don’t feel Him, Cas.  I don’t know where He is but I don’t think He’s on Earth anymore.”

“Where would He go?”

“Oh Cas,” Lucifer hugged him closer, “He’s got a whole universe out there.  Earth was but another toy.  He’s got plenty of planets out there, and surely plenty of new design ideas.  He’s an artist; artists get bored doing the same thing over and over again.  You remember Doyle, right?  Perhaps he was foreshadowing our Father’s own restlessness.  But he could not simply leave us.  He designed us as his servants, but we were never designed for anywhere other than Earth.  I think you’re the liberator, Cas, the liberator of the angels.  The one meant to show them how to break free of the bonds of servitude and live.  Run Heaven for the Earth but be bound to one another, not Him anymore.”

“But…” Castiel felt himself leveling out slowly, “But why would he do that to us?  How could he do that to us?  He’s our Father.”

Lucifer smiled fondly and petted the younger’s hair again.  “The kid’s’ve gotta leave the nest eventually, little brother.  And like every planet before this one, His interest in its story was bound to fade.  It’s our turn to sit at the keyboard.  We know it as well as He does.  If he didn’t trust us to do it justice He would have made someone else its guardians before He left.”

“Does that make us demigods?” Castiel asked, looking up.

Taking his brother’s face in his hands, Lucifer smirked.  “More like fanfiction writers.”  His eyes sparkled mischievously.  “And I think ours is rated M.”

At Castiel’s noise of confusion, Lucifer rolled his eyes, and bluntly leaned forward to capture the younger’s lips between his own.  Castiel started at the touch and pulled back.  “Lucifer-” he yelped.

“Nothing we haven’t done before,” The Devil invited, “Certainly not anything you weren’t willing to do at least once.”

“That was… I was confused,” Castiel said.

“You still are,” Lucifer noted.  “Was I not clear enough?”

“No, just…” Castiel sighed.  “You really think He chose me to liberate the angels?”  

“He certainly didn’t choose me for it,” Lucifer joked with a hint of fondness, “my task is done.”

“Not quite,” Cas reminded him, “You and Michael still haven’t fought yet.”

“Sure we did.  You were there.”

“Not for long.”

Lucifer winced, then offered a half smile.  “Sorry about that.”

“Surprisingly, I’m over it,” Castiel said, “But it didn’t end the way it was supposed to.  I have a feeling that means it may pick up where it left off eventually.  The Fates had it written; nothing can undo a Fates’ signature.  Certainly not a couple of humans; God did not make them that powerful.”  

“God was also gone by then,” Lucifer reminded him, “And if I’m right - which I always am - then it wasn’t really the Winchesters that derailed the apocalypse, but you.  They were just the tools with which you ripped up the tracks.”

Castiel’s eyes widened at his brother’s words, and he stood so fast in an attempt to distance himself from them that he ended up stumbling backwards and falling on his backside.  “W-What?  Are you saying _that_ was my fault too?!”

“Castiel,” Lucifer leaned forward on his knee, offering his hand, “There are no faults here, only God’s plan.  Don’t you see?  This means that everything that has happened to you, all of this grief, it’s not for nothing.  You are not suffering without reason.  There would have been few angels ready to accept the idea that God left them all of this to govern on their own, but as an angel is not capable of suicide, they would have ripped out their Graces and fallen to Earth anyway from the stress.  They would have been lost to us either way.  How they were lost is but a detail that writes itself, as is what happens when one is granted freedom.”  He crawled closer to his brother, who was resting back on his palms, chest heaving.  

“Little brother,” He cooed, “I know what you’re going through.  I didn’t want it to be me, either.  But it is God’s will.  And we will always, _always,_ obey that, even with freedom on our sides.  Because He is our Father and we love him.  You are not being disobedient, you’re being a good son by doing these things that are painful.  And they are painful, they are so painful.  But every hero story has a martyr, does it not?”  

Slowly, he reached out and put a hand on one of Castiel’s raised knees.  When his brother didn’t start, he crawled behind him and took him in his arms again, tilting his head backwards to rest his temple on the front of his shoulder.  “It’s going to be okay, Cas,” he purred, rubbing his chest, “It’s gonna be alright.  God has always had this plan for you.  He was just waiting for the right moment to stir you in to action.  You were his fail safe for when he inevitably left.  He knew he would eventually.  He has before.”  

Castiel was quiet for a long three minutes before finally answering.  “The human scientists would be pleased to learn that life outside Earth does exist.”

Lucifer smiled.  “As would the ones who clung to religion over science.  In all of their squabbling, neither party ever really stopped to consider that both of them could be right.  God’s artistry had to come from somewhere logistical.  They label him a Creator and a Craftsman but they so often forget what that means.  Science and physics and all that technobabble is his paintbrush.”  He snorted.  “None of them are really capable of taking in the whole picture, I suppose.  They are terribly single-minded.”

“It’s their design,” Castiel sighed, “Their brains are complex but certainly not the greatest He’s ever created.”

“Mmm,” Lucifer hummed in agreement, “I always preferred conversing with the wolves.  They had brilliant brains, really logical thinkers.  They’re still around, right?”

“They’re going extinct,” Cas said idly, “Deforestation is hitting them hard.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed.  “Well we’ll have to do something about that.  Assuming our kin don’t take well to the idea of my return I’m gonna need someone to talk to.”

Cas smiled, and raised a hand to wrap loosely around one of his brother’s arms, still rubbing soothing circles onto his chest.  “I may need them to fall back on as well.”

“No.”  Lucifer kissed the top of his head, keeping his nose to Cas’s hair as he spoke, “You’re going to be welcomed back in to Heaven as the Great Liberator once this all passes.”

“Will I be leading our kin then?”  Castiel shifted uncomfortably, “Because I attempted that once, and killed anyone who refused to follow me.  I do not think they have forgotten that, and I do not think they would take kindly to the idea of me as a leader in wake of it.”

“Cas,” Lucifer kissed his hair again, “They’re going to be free.  Think of it like the founding of the United States; that Washington fellow only stepped up because people wanted him to.  He left very quickly, and they based most of their governmental laws around what he did with his time there.  If they want you to be their leader they will ask it of you, appoint you based on public opinion.  In fact I think an elected leader would be best for them.  But it may not be you.  And you’ll have every right to decline it if you do not feel comfortable with it.  That’s what freedom is, asking permission and having the right to say no, not orders and obligations.”

“It’s intimidating,” Cas admitted.

“You get used to it.”  He let his right hand venture lower on the younger’s torso, aiming for his belt.  “And with the adjustment comes the purging of guilt.  You’ll stop feeling guilty in the face of making your own decisions.  So the memory of that night so long ago,” his fingers brushed against the leather of Castiel’s belt, “When we performed an act preserved supposedly only for creatures of the flesh, the one you feel obligated to feel guilty about, you will no longer look upon it with a heavy heart.”  His lips brushed the fallen’s ear.  “In fact, you may just reflect upon it kindly.  Even, dare I say, fondly, with a sudden urge to do it again.”

“You’re trying to seduce me,” Castiel pointed out flatly.

“Mmm,” Lucifer purred into his neck, planting a kiss there, “Working yet?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted, “My mind was black during our last encounter.  I do not remember the responses of the vessel much.”

“It’s your body, now, Castiel,” Lucifer reminded him, kissing his neck again, “You’re less disconnected from it now.  There’s no barrier between you and it anymore.  You’re not celestial energy animating a meatsuit, you’re a slab of neurons piloting an extension of itself.  Not a prison, not a limitation; it’s all you are.”  

“It doesn’t belong to me.”

“It has always belonged to you,” the Morningstar huffed hot onto his skin, “It was designed specifically for you.  Jimmy Novak existed for the purpose of keeping it warm until you decided to claim it.  You are its rightful owner.  His soul is in Heaven now, being rewarded for his troubles.  But this is yours now.  So, what do you feel?”  He licked a stripe up the warm column of flesh beneath him to help punctuate his point.

“I feel…” Castiel said breathily, “…drawn to you.”

“That’s called attraction,” Lucifer smiled into his skin, “Since is this your first time really experiencing all of this, and not transferring emotions from one into another, allow me to walk you through it.”  He leapt around to face Castiel then, supporting him with his hand behind his head, looming over him.  “Right now your heart is starting to increase its pace.  Can you feel it in your chest?”  A pause, and then his brother nodded.  “All those fancy chemicals our Father designed to get humans going are currently being released by your pituitary.  It’s a tiny little gland in the center of that mass of nerves between your ears.”  He poked Castiel’s forehead playfully as he spoke, “And it’s causing some physical changes.  Your pores are going to start releasing perspiration soon.  As your heart starts to pound, you’re breathing’s going to get heavier, and your arteries are going to open up.”  His eyes flicked down Castiel’s body, pointedly fixating on his belt buckle for a moment before returning to Castiel’s widening gaze.  “And then your blood is going to flow south.”

Cas lowered his arms to support his weight on his hands, his left leg unconsciously lowering to rest flat on the ground.  Lucifer took it as an opportunity to situate himself above the younger, hand still cupping his head.  With his left hand, he stroked Castiel’s side to encourage him to lower the other leg.  

“Your pupils just dilated,” he commented, “Another physical symptom.  Unlike the normal pupillary reflex, that reaction is a response gauged by the release of all of those chemicals.  They’re telling your muscles to relax.”  He paused for effect.  “Relax, Cas,” he said, his tone softer, less clinical.  Castiel swallowed, and attempted to will some of the anxiety away. 

Lucifer continued on. “The more stimulation you receive,” he leaned down to plant a brief kiss on Cas’s lips, “the faster and harder your heart will pound, carrying those chemicals exactly where they want to go.  Where they need to to cause you the most pleasure.”  He smirked.  “And it’s different for everyone.  The fun part is figuring out what you like.”

The younger’s eyes roamed his face.  “It’s all so complicated,” he said, “They refer to it as the basest of all actions, but it is so intricate.  How can that be?”

“God works in mysterious ways,” Lucifer said, not attempting to hide the condescension in his tone.  “They’re referring to the fact that other animals do it as well.  If it’s a trait they share with those creatures that they think themselves above then it must be a base instinct, not at all complicated.  And yet there’s an entire branch of science dedicated to studying orgasms.  Keeping a species populated but not over or under so is incredibly complicated, the right amount of chemicals per individual with enough stimulants to gauge the responses but not enough to cause them to overdo it, how many is too many versus too little, blah blah blah.  This conversation is fascinating but can we perhaps put it off to a later date?  I understand that you’re eager to learn all about our Father’s processes and I’m an excellent inside source but dearest little brother,” he growled, licking a stripe up the front of Castiel’s neck, “I’m rather trying to get you to _focus._ ”

“Sorry,” Cas panted after Lucifer’s tongue had ceased its stimulation.  It was interesting the effect that a simple touch had on his breathing process, which he was still adjusting to.

“It’s alright,” Lucifer kissed him again, a simple slide of lips.  Castiel responded awkwardly, just sitting and taking it, but the hand that came up to rest on his face suggested that he was supposed to mimic the movements, so he did.  It took him a minute to grasp the rhythm, but when he did, something in his core clicked.  For the first time since his Fall, he felt a fire stirring within him.  

That clever tongue brushed against his closed lips once, twice, then licked across the seam.  Castiel opened his mouth with the intent to ask him what he was doing, but instead he found his mouth filled by that wet, warm muscle.  The sensation was strange, the taste new, but none of this was at all unpleasant.  It licked its way into the warm cavern of his mouth, tasting and feeling, until it brushed against his own.  Castiel took the hint and licked back, and soon they established another rhythm, one of sliding tongues and lips that was altogether lovely.  That fire in his core burned brighter with each coaxing of his brother’s graceful tongue, every resealing of their mouths.  Another fire was kindling itself in a more external region of him, accompanied by a strange tightness.

When they finally broke apart, Castiel was panting.  Lucifer huffed a few times, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.  “What - is this warmth,” he asked, “I don’t recall it.”

“You were already pretty flushed from anger last time,” the Devil explained.  “It’s those chemicals again.  Every physical reaction you’ll have is chemicals.”  He brushed a hand over Cas’s growing erection.  “Including this one.”

Castiel groaned, the sound unexpected.  He remembered that, that novel pleasure nothing like the touch of Heaven that he knew.  “I don’t know why the humans call this ‘heavenly,’” he noted breathily, “it feels nothing of Heaven.”

“Well, they don’t know that,” Lucifer said, “This is the most pleasurable thing they know.  Guilt by association.  And quite an ironic one, given the strict rules of the church they completely made by themselves.  They misnamed a few sins.”   He stroked up Castiel’s length.  “This is one of them.”  

“Then why,” Cas groaned again, “Do you still consider it leading them into temptation?”

“Because it’s hilarious to watch them go running to their churches begging for forgiveness when they haven’t done anything to spoil their pass to Heaven,” Lucifer chuckled.  “Hell was so boring, Cas.  I had to do something to occupy my time.  It was funny.”  

“We’re supposed to be concentrating,” Castiel reminded him, bucking his hips into the Devil’s touch unconsciously.  

“Mmm,” the Devil agreed delightfully.  “How hypocritical of me.”  He pushed Castiel’s dirty trench coat off his shoulders and tossing it away before pushing him backwards, straddling his hips when he was laying down, his fragile head cushioned by soft grass.  “At the moment you’re wearing far too many layers.  Would you prefer we eased into this or went hard and fast like last time?”  He smoothed his hands down Castiel’s sides.  “You certainly enjoyed that.”  

“I…”  Castiel wiggled nervously.  

“It’s alright if you’d prefer to take it slowly,” The Devil encouraged, “In a way this is your first time.” 

“I’m not some delicate flower,” Castiel growled defensively.

“Certainly not,” the Morningstar laughed, “I remember seeing you during the War.  For a fledgling you fought remarkably well.  It’s unsurprising that you were promoted to captain immediately after.”  Noting the pride gleaming behind Cas’s eyes, he decided to run with that fond memory to fuel the current proceedings.  Leaning forward, he reached on hand behind him to undo the younger’s belt and open his trousers, all the while suckling on his neck.  “How much longer until you were in charge of your own garrison?”  He murmured into the soft flesh under his mouth.

“T-two hundred years,” Castiel stuttered, the multiple points of contact addling his thoughts.

Lucifer moaned.  “Remarkable.”  He suckled a bruise into Cas’s neck, then licked the sensitive mark.  Castiel shivered beneath him.  His right hand, having successfully undone the button and fly of the younger’s pants, was snaking its way inside to give him an encouraging squeeze.  “You really are remarkable, little brother.”

“What,” Castiel breathed, “What makes me so special?”

Lucifer growled softly.  “What’s the best answer to get you to stop talking, telling you that you are special or that you aren’t?”  He smirked as the motions of his hand caused the younger’s eyes to roll back in his skull.  “Why does it matter?  The fact remains the same that you are, and that I want you.  And from now on, the only sounds I want to hear from you are those decadent little moans you’re trying so hard to hold back - stop that, by the way - and maybe maybe the words ‘Oh, yes, Lucifer, please!’  Not necessarily always in succession.”

“You’re a conceited ass you know that,” Cas growled in frustration, bucking up into the Devil’s hands again.  “For someone so determined to get going you’re sure as Hell being a tease right now.”

The Devil laughed, accepting that as a challenge, and promptly moved to the side for a moment to completely devoid Castiel of his pants and underwear, the shorter man’s erection laying flat against his stomach when freed into the cool forest air.  

“Best not soil these,” he mocked, and tore Castiel’s remaining jacket and shirt off.  His own shirts he willed away, but he kept his pants on for now, asserting his control over his brother trapped below him.  He licked his lips at the exposed flesh of his brother’s body, all tan skin and taut muscles.  His vessel had certainly taken care of the body he was meant to look after.  He hoped idly that the man’s Heaven space was treating him well, as his attention to his physical form was paying off greatly now.  He let his hands roam over the smooth skin, giving brief attention to both of Castiel’s nipples with his thumbs.  When they were standing pleasantly at attention, he moved away to graze the prominent collar bones.  

“Now,” he invited, “How do you wish to proceed, same way as last time, or are you looking for a little more foreplay?  Give yourself time to properly adjust?”  He leaned forward to lick a stripe up the center of Castiel’s abdominals to emphasize his point.  

“I…” Castiel wiggled uncomfortably again, not really sure what to do.

“Stop overthinking it,” the Devil commanded, “Just listen to your body.  What’s it telling you it wants?  Don’t be afraid to give in to wanting, Castiel.  Just listen.  You’re good at that.”

“I… I want you to keep using your mouth,” he admitted, face flushing a little.

Lucifer smiled, kissed his abdominals lightly in positive reinforcement.  “Good.  Where would you like me to use it?”

Castiel groaned.  “I thought you wanted me to shut up.”

“I like watching you squirm.”  That comment earned him a firm slap.  The Devil laughed.  “Is that what you’re in to?  I must admit I’m yet to try that.  Though the BDSM lifestyle is quite breathtaking.”  

“However you use your mouth, I want you to make sure it prevents you from talking,” Cas growled.  

“Say no more,” Lucifer quipped simply.  Scooting further down the fallen’s body, he leaned forward and promptly swallowed Castiel’s swollen erection.  

With a surprised cry, Castiel shot forward into a sitting position, completely unprepared for and overwhelmed by the sudden stimulation.  The cry quickly transformed to a guttural moan at the sight of his brother’s head between his legs, swallowing him near to the base, his wicked tongue doing something utterly sinful as it wrapped around his hardened flesh.  Pulling back up, Lucifer stopped to pay special attention to the head of Castiel’s erection, licking and laving the glans before sinking back down and taking him to the root.  One of his hands came up to gently massage his testicles, a slightly frustrating but simultaneously decadent juxtaposition to the merciless ventures of his mouth.  

Castiel could not stop the sounds that erupted from his throat, but they seemed to encourage the Devil to continue his ministrations, so he stopped trying.  His tongue worked in tandem with the muscles of his throat to lick and suck Castiel’s shaft, his free hand working the base of it after he could no longer relax enough to keep Castiel’s full length in his mouth.  The few swallows that he offered beforehand made the effort worth the short amount of time.  Castiel’s entire existence had shrunk down to the sensations between his legs, administered by the clever and daring mouth of the only angel truly capable of such passionate nonchalance in the face of something so utterly sinful.  He was gradually starting to see the appeal of sin, why so many humans knowingly trudged that damnable path.  It was, in the simplest of terms,

“Fucking fantastic,” he finished aloud.  Something was tightening, furling in his lower abdominal region.  Whatever it was he hoped it kept going.

Lucifer pulled off abruptly after that tightening started.  “Now now,” he said, licking his lips as his head shot up, “We don’t want you finishing before the fun’s really gotten started.”  He crawled his way back up Castiel’s body to kiss him breathless again.  

“How do you mean?”  Castiel asked once he had his breath back.  

Straddling Castiel’s hips again, the Devil manifested some lubricant onto his fingers, inconspicuously tucking that hand behind his back.  “Refractory period,” he explained calmly, “Human males only get one orgasm.  It takes them a while to be able to get it up again.”  His pitch dropped into a purr, “So if you came down my throat just then, all of this would have had to stop before you got to experience the full of it.”  

“What’s the full of it, if not the pursuit of orgasm?”  Cas asked seriously.

The Devil huffed out an affectionate giggle.  “Open your legs a little more and find out,” he challenged.  With a squint, Castiel obliged.  

The brush of something wet and warm against his entrance caused his mouth to fall open.  Above him, Lucifer was smirking.  “You know what the funniest part of humans considering homosexuality unnatural is?”  He asked almost conversationally as he teased against his brother’s sensitive hole, “They never once stopped to think that God’s design of the human male puts their pleasure gland in the anus.  Nothing in their design is an accident.  That was very deliberate.  I think his reasoning for that was some sort of backup in case their sex drives were too potent.  Simple, effective birth control.  Hard to focus on a woman when you’re suddenly so much more interested in taking it up the ass.”  With that, he pressed his slicked finger inside Castiel’s tight opening.  

Castiel grunted through clenched teeth at the initial breaching, but eventually relaxed into the coaxing touch.  Lucifer worked him open slowly, pushing only in to the first knuckle, then back out until his finger threatened to fall out, for a few strokes before getting down to the second knuckle, and repeating this pattern like suicide runs, until he felt the younger was relaxed enough to add a second finger.  Summoning more lubricant quickly, he joined his fingers and pushed both of them inside, using the same pattern as he did with a single finger to encourage Castiel to relax.  When he felt his brother’s breath catching anxiously, he trailed his free hand up his body, from his lower abs up his chest to rest in the crook of his neck, gently petting the hot flesh there with his thumb.

“Alright?”  He asked evenly.

“Is it supposed to feel like you’re splitting me in half?”  Cas asked hoarsely.

“Sometimes that felt like your goal last time,” Lucifer commented fondly.  Castiel snorted, but said nothing more on the matter.  He relaxed into the soothing touch at his neck, the calm flowing from his head down through each of his muscle groups.  Smiling, Lucifer added a third finger.  

“Oh God,” Castiel breathed as the trio brushed against his prostate.

“Try again,” the Devil smirked.

“Ass,” Cas grumbled.

“‘Fantastic ass’ would work better, I think, given how ‘fucking fantastic’ I’m making you feel at the moment,” Lucifer turned Cas’s earlier words against him.  He cocked his head dramatically.  “And what a fantastic ass it is.”  

“You know you’re in a good position to get kicked.”

“I’ve got better plans for your legs,” Lucifer flashed his teeth in a self-satisfied grin as he withdrew his fingers.  He stood to fully tower above Castiel so he could have a perfect view as he removed his remaining clothes, tossing them aimlessly to the side.  Castiel’s eyes settled somewhat apprehensively on his erection, jutting out from his body.  The head was swollen and red, as if angry that it had yet to be touched.  Lucifer appeared unaffected by the condition of his vessel.  Unsurprising, considering the disconnection he still had from it, whereas Castiel was feeling vastly overwhelmed by all of the sensations he was now incapable of ignoring.  

The Devil crouched again, lifting the younger’s legs by his knees to settle between them.  “Wrap these around me,” he instructed, stroking Castiel’s thighs, “And hold tight.”  Castiel obeyed, only somewhat apprehensive.  His breaths were coming in short, shallow huffs now, and a beautiful red flush had spread throughout his skin.  He looked stunning.  Remembering the sudden frailty of Castiel’s form, he stroked a hand down his own length to add extra lubricant, not wanting to hurt his now fully-human brother, before lining himself up and pressing in.

Cas hissed in discomfort at the initial breach.  His effort not to retract in pain was admirable.  Lucifer stayed where he was while the fallen’s fragile body adjusted to the intrusion.  When he relaxed again, he continued to move, slow, smooth movements until he found himself fully sheathed, their faces a mere inches apart.  Castiel’s breath puffed damply onto his face, but he barely noticed.  He was focusing on the gorgeous view of his brother’s pleasured expression.  Each canting of his hips produced a delicious little whimper from Castiel’s lips.  He yearned for them to be louder, but he needed to be patient.  Much as he enjoyed their previous encounter, Castiel had possessed an angel’s strength back then; he did not now.

“Fuck, Lucifer,” Cas groaned in frustration, “You… You don’t have to be gentle.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Lucifer huffed, voice huskier than he intended it to be, “I don’t want to hurt you.  You’re a bit more breakable this time around.”

On his next thrust, Castiel bucked back to meet him.  Lucifer nearly lost balance, shocked at Castiel’s conviction.  The look Cas leveled at him was part challenge, part trusting, but completely lustful.  With a grin, Lucifer gripped his hips and re-centered himself, then drove into the man beneath him with fervor.  Those decadent little whimpers quickly morphed into throaty grunts of unabashed enjoyment, but the cries and pleas he longed for never came.  This was enough though.  The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echoing all around them in the air as he bonded with one of his brothers yet again, after so long apart from them.  Not an act of desperation or distraction, one of love, trust, acceptance, and just a little bit of rebellion.  This was perfect.  

“Luci-” Castiel’s sentence was cut off when the next thrust was a direct hit to his prostate.  “Lucifer,” He gasped desperately, “Let me - see you.”

The Morningstar leaned down closer to Castiel’s face.  “I’m right here,” he purred, his rhythm dissipating from relentless thrusting to a sensual grind against Cas’s pelvis.

“No,” Cas shook his head, “Let me see _you._ ”

When the meaning behind the words sunk in, the Morningstar beamed.  Straightening his back, he pulled Castiel forward by his hips to keep buried inside him as he sat up.  The younger responded by squeezing his hips tighter and digging his heels into Lucifer’s lower back.  Stroking Castiel’s thighs, he allowed the energy of his Grace to expand outward in a gentle caress to tickle his sensitive flesh.  Castiel whined and arched into the warm touch.  The sight was marvelous, Castiel keening for his touch in every way like that.  Once he’d teased him a little, he finally gave him what he wanted: he ruffled his feathers before allowing his wings to manifest, stretching and flaying the appendages to their full span above his head.  At Castiel’s angle, he knew they would especially impressive. 

A strangled breath escaped his brother’s lips, and then Castiel’s orgasm was spilling out onto his stomach without a touch to his straining arousal.  Lucifer grinned wickedly, then allowed himself to focus on his own pleasure.  Unlikely Cas would be up for this lasting too much longer; overstimulation at this point would be incredibly painful.  It was just a few more thrusts before he leaned down to claim Castiel’s lips as he spilled into the younger’s pliant body.

Lucifer held himself up with his hands on either side of Cas’s shoulders; the fallen angel was panting heavily, and he was cautious of breathing now being a necessity for him.  As gently as he could, he slowly slid out of the younger’s sensitive hole.  

“Alright?” He asked warily.

Cas nodded once, the movement stiff.  “Yes,” he answered aloud after a moment.

“You sure?”  Lucifer asked, “‘Cause you said that last time too and then I had to deal with hormones for over a year.”

Cas gave him a look.  “I’m fine.  May I get up?”

Lucifer pushed himself up, swinging one leg over Castiel’s naked form to sit back next to him on his haunches.  The younger looked around, noting that none of his clothes were within immediate reach.  “Do you mind?” He asked.  With a snap of his fingers, Lucifer replaced his briefs and pants, but nothing more.  At Cas’s bemused look, he laughed.

“I’m not done admiring the view.”  The comment earned him a smack on his shoulder before Cas stood up.  But he made no attempts to retrieve his discarded shirts.  Instead he admired the forest that surrounded them.  Standing up, Lucifer joined him at his side, still unapologetically naked.  Planting a quick kiss on his brother’s shoulder, Lucifer mumbled, “I’m really glad you came back.”  His hand moved to rest gingerly on the younger’s right hip; not gripping at all, just to provide a source of contact.  Castiel leaned back in to him slightly, but did not offer a word.  He didn’t need to; the subtle shift in his weight was enough.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Insert obligatory apology for the long wait here* No but seriously I am so sorry about how long this chapter has taken. It went through so many drafts and edits and re-organizations that I'm really not sure what I was thinking the first few times. It's still very rough in my opinion but it's done and it's been edited so I wanted to get it up for all of you incredibly wonderful and patient people. I cannot tell you how long it will take for the next chapter to be up because I work crazy hours at my new job, but thank you all so much for your continued patience and support of this project! Also in case you didn't notice, the number of chapters has increased because I don't think the ending I have in mind will fit in to just one chapter. But we shall see. Again thank you all so much for your continued support, you're all the reason this one-shot turned in to a years-long project!

True to his word, Castiel continued to be fine in the days and weeks following their copulation.  The rift between them slowly began to bridge and heal, despite Lucifer’s refusal to work with the Winchesters on defeating Metatron.  He fed Castiel helpful information and answered his questions when he asked them, but apart from that he seemed perfectly content to sit back and observe the unfolding of the world around them.  Castiel voiced his displeasure with this often, but it only earned him a teasing smile. 

It was on a routine visit to Castiel that Lucifer noticed Sam Winchester outside on his own, on an apparent stroll down the private road leading to the barracks they were now living in.  Intrigued, the Devil decided to postpone the visit to his brother in hopes of some one-on-one time with his vessel.

“Don’t tell me you’re going for a walk to clear your head,” the Devil teased as he appeared next to Sam, falling into stride with him.  “It doesn’t actually work like that, y’know.”

Sam eyed him carefully before exhaling; the sound was caught somewhere between a sigh and an amused huff.  “I’m holding out for the placebo effect, at least.”

“In that case I wish you the best of luck,” the Morningstar smirked, turning his gaze ahead.  “Never could get it to work on myself.  Interesting phenomenon though.  Almost makes me jealous of the sheer power of the human mind.”  He risked a fleeting glance at the man beside him before focusing ahead again.  “I do give Dad credit for the processing power he put inside your noggins.  Even if most of you don’t utilize it’s full potential.  But you do, don’t you?  And so does Dean, riddled by daddy issues and skewed perspectives though his processor may be.”

Sam’s lip quirked.  “Wonder what that says about Michael.” 

Lucifer pondered.  “Michael was a slave to his programming.  His desire to be obedient weighed down his judgement and destroyed any hopes he had of individualism.  He wasn’t always like that.  When we were going through training, it was the two of us mapping out Heaven and asking questions, and God always answered them.  He enjoyed our curiosity.  But a time came when he told both Michael and me to put a lid on it.  ‘Playtime’s over, it’s time for you two to be leaders’ or some crap like that.  And just like that Michael was able to switch it off, like his curiosity and personality never existed.  But I couldn’t.  And you can’t either, can you?”  He looked Sam over.  “Part of you still questions this life, questions if it’s what you want, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not leaving again,” Sam dodged.

“Not what I asked.”

The younger Winchester rubbed at the back of his neck, carding his fingers through his hair.  “I don’t think I’ll ever stop questioning it.  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get rid of that feeling in my stomach, the one that’s secretly disgusted with it all.  But Dean and Cas, they need me, and I need them too, and I’m not turning my back on them again.  They’re family.  Kevin too.  And yeah, being a hunter got almost everyone I’ve ever known and ever loved killed, but it’s also given me so many people.  I don’t always love this lifestyle but I do love them.”

The Morningstar smiled fondly.  “I know this may not mean much, but I do understand.  I do get it, and I admire you for sticking by your family.  For sticking by your beliefs through the bad feeling in your gut.  It’s not an easy thing to do.”

Sighing, Sam stopped and turned to face him.  “Please do not tell me this was all an attempt to compare me to you.”

The Devil held up his hands.  “I promise it wasn’t.” 

Sam cocked his head, his expression falling skeptical.

“…That doesn’t mean I didn’t jump on the opportunity to make a comparison when it presented itself.”  With a knowing smile, Sam regained his earlier pacing.  The Morningstar fell in to step again.  “I know you don’t want to share similarities with the Devil but it was kind of quite literally the Fate’s design for you.  They did an excellent job plagiarizing themselves and just substituting your name for mine.”  Sam chuckled humorlessly.  “Seriously.  Their notebooks may not have a cut-and-paste option but I bet if I could get my hands on one-”

“What do you even want?”  Sam stopped again, his tone defensive and demanding.  “You’ve made it pretty clear that you have no interest in helping us with this problem with Metatron so why are you here?”

Lucifer held his vessel’s gaze, and spoke earnestly.  “I’m here because I saw you looking troubled, and I wanted to help you if I could.  But if I’m doing more harm than good then I’ll go.  Admittedly being consoling isn’t my strong suit.” 

“Not according to Cas.”

The Devil’s eyes sparkled.  “Oh?”

Sam rolled his shoulders.  “He said that you… Helped him, when he was in that psych hospital.  That you helped him through whatever he took over from me.”  His expression was only slightly doubtful.

Lucifer waved his hand dismissively.  “Angels are easy.  The ones that find themselves feeling something usually end up feeling similar things for similar reasons.  Humans, on the other hand, are more complex, because they were allowed to be.  Cas’s problem was an identity crisis.  Yours is… Well, actually we haven’t gotten to why you’re out here yet.  So now it’s your turn: why are you here?”

Sam looked around instinctively before answering, “Just frustrated, I guess.  The air in there felt thick.  I’ve had my nose buried in books for days with nothing to show for it.  I’m not sure there’s anything we can actually do.”

Lucifer shrugged.  “You and your brother sometimes forget that you are only human.  The only way in and out of Heaven for non-angel entities is to die.  But I’m assuming you already knew that, so you know that getting in to Heaven isn’t the problem, but the getting back part, which - with Cas’s Grace regretfully gone - would be pretty much impossible.”

Sam nodded sarcastically as he picked up a rock to skip it across the pavement.  “Any other advice you’d like to give me?  Preferably something I don’t already know.”

“Not really, but I could offer you some Dutch courage.  From somewhere less… Bleak.”  Sam looked over his shoulder towards the bunker.  “C’mon,” the Devil nudged him playfully.  When Sam glared at the contact, he took a respectful step back.  “You could use a night of normalcy.”

“Going to a bar with Satan is normal?”  the Winchester asked incredulously.

“Everyone goes to the bar with Satan,” Lucifer jested.  “And don’t tell me that’s not the Winchester definition of normal.  Going and getting alcohol with something not human is right up your alley.”  When Sam looked over his shoulder again, Lucifer had to school his expression.  “And if Dean thinks he can yell at you for needing a drink, he’s a damn hypocrite.”  He watched Sam carefully for signs of disapproval.

Turning back to the archangel, Sam raised his eyebrows and shrugged in his telltale appeasing manner.  “Alright, yeah, I guess it couldn’t hurt.”  With a cheshire grin, the Devil picked him up and transported both of them to a bar and grill across the country with which he was familiar.

Sam looked around as his surroundings changed.  “Where are we?”  He asked.  They were standing on a cement street, tall buildings surrounding them on all sides and in the distance.  Based on the fact that it was just after sunset he assumed that they had not traveled far, or were at least somewhere in the same timezone. 

“The Silver Fox,” Lucifer answered, “Only bar I actually know that’s better than just decent.  Apparently their steaks are award-winners.  I’ve never bothered to check the credibility of damned souls; a lot of them are down there for lying.” 

“You’re taking me to a bar that you heard about in between the screams of the souls you tortured?”  Sam asked in the same incredulous tone.

“Heavens no,” Lucifer gasped in mock disgust, “Anyway _I_ never tortured them, that was always the demons.  No, I know this place because I get a lot of contracts signed courtesy of the inebriation this place provides, and thus the poor judgment it brings to the surface.  Word to the wise, demons love bars, strip joints, and casinos.  So if you’re ever looking for a quick hunt to blow off steam, I’d start there.  Shall we go inside?” 

Sam stared after him in bewilderment as he followed the archangel inside.  “You’re giving me tips on how to hunt creatures that you made?”

Instead of sitting at the bar, Lucifer grabbed a chair at a two-person table, gesturing for Sam to sit down across from him.  The Winchester hesitated.  Rolling his eyes, Lucifer answered, “Sam, we were connected at one point.  How much love and affection did you feel me expressing for those slimy cretins?  I may have made them but that doesn’t mean I like them.  Why do you think they’re the only thing I ever attempted making?  I’m not good at creating.  That’s God’s job description.”  He gestured for the human to sit down again.  This time, Sam complied, somewhat reluctantly.   The Devil smiled in triumph.  “Are you hungry or do you just want to drink?” 

Sam offered a small return smile.  “Maybe I’ll try on of their supposed award-winning steaks, see how credible a demon’s word actually is.”

“I’ll save you the time: not at all.”  That earned Lucifer a small, breathy chuckle from his vessel.  A waitress came over shortly after.  Sam ordered one of the steaks and a beer, while the Devil ordered a Bloody Mary.  When the waitress disappeared, Sam gave him a look.

“I think you’ll find that most of my life nowadays is one long-running joke,” the Devil said by way of answer.  Sam snorted and shook his head.

“That’s what I don’t get.  When we let you out - which was an accident, by the way.  I don’t care what the Fates had in mind, I wouldn’t have done it if I knew what was really going on - you were hellbent on frying the Earth and now that you’ve gotten a free pass you’re not interested anymore?  You have to at least respect why Dean and I are so skeptical.” 

“Of course I do, I wouldn’t buy it either.”  The waitress returned with their drinks, and Lucifer offered her a polite smile as he waited for her to leave again.  Then he continued, “Before I was cast back into the nauseating pit that I had despised and tried to claw out of for millennia, however, I was inspired by a certain pair of hairless apes.  Specifically, the one I was inhabiting at the time.”  He met Sam’s eyes.  “Thing is, Sam, that while I was down there, I knew I was getting out eventually.  I tried escaping a few times, and when every attempt failed I knew that at least I had the Apocalypse to hope for.  I knew that I’d be out for that, because I had a lead role in that particular play.  The feeling of that first seal being broken, it was like a weight being lifted off my chest - which was a bit confusing because at the time I didn’t have a physical form. 

“Anyway, I had planned for the Apocalypse for millennia.  During my time in exile I only had one way of entertaining myself, and that was to think of when I got out.  I planned for every outcome, every possible repercussion of every possible outcome, every sudden twist or unexpected move by Heaven you could possibly imagine.  For thousands of years I played it all out in my head until I had a plan, back up plan, and back up back up plan for every possible way in which those events could unfold.  But the one thing I didn’t expect, the one player I overlooked, was you, and your devotion to your family.  And I should have seen that, because I love my family as much as you love yours. 

“You have only ever done the things that you did, made the mistakes that you made and accidentally set me free, because you were thinking of your loved ones.  When I started that war in Heaven, it was because I did not want my brothers and sisters to be slaves to a species that was below them.  I wanted our Father to treat us with dignity and respect.  It hurt to go against Him and it hurt to have them think I was betraying them, but I only did what I thought was best for my family.  So when you gained control for five seconds - of all things to happen - I was genuinely impressed, and even a little guilty for thinking so little of you.  Your love for your brother rekindled some seriously old memories, ones that I thought I had locked away pretty securely.  But you can never turn your back on your family, not really, right?” 

Sam said nothing, his finger swirling around the mouth of the bottle in front of him.  His eyes looked distant and deep, the human obviously in deep thought.  He let his head droop for a moment before picking up his fork and twirling it in his and. 

“And yet,” the younger Winchester finally spoke up, “You won’t help us help your family now.” 

Lucifer scoffed.  “Metatron is a fifteen-year-old who just took his dad’s Bentley out for a spin while his folks are away for the weekend.  He hasn’t been around for aeons; laughably out-of-date with all of the politics of Heaven.  He’ll either get bored up there like he did all those years ago or someone with actual competence - AKA you three - will boot him out.  He may act all high and mighty but he’s making this up as he goes along, and frankly he’s a God-awful writer.”  The Devil smirked at his own joke and sipped his drink.  “Outwitting him will not really be a problem for you two, because the two of you are notorious for winging your plans.  It’s the out-gunning him that will be a bitch.” 

“Yeah, we’re working on it.  It would go a little faster if we maybe had the help of someone who knows the ins and outs of Heaven.”

“You’re asking the wrong angel then.  I’ve been away for almost as long as Metatron has.  And either way, Metatron is not my fight.”

Glaring, Sam gritted out, “See, that right there I don’t believe.  He’s every angel’s fight right now.  Whether or not Heaven is your home anymore, if you care about your family as much as you claim to, then you’d be helping us fix what he broke.”

Lucifer shook his head.  “Not my fight.  I made the same stupid mistake he did by trying to force an ideal future on my brothers and starting a war.  Maybe my intentions were more honest than his but we’re still both regarded as the bad guys of our stories.  I’m done being the villain, Sammy.  I never wanted to be that.  So I’m sticking to being a neutral party for this one.”

Shifting in his seat, Sam met the Devil’s gaze.  “And you’re really okay with that?  Just sitting on the sidelines sipping a Bloody Mary while your brothers murder each other over their lost home?”

“Of course I’m not okay with it, but I’m also virtually powerless to help them.  They won’t accept my help if I offer it, and realistically there’s not much I can really offer in the way of help towards you and Dean.  So I’m just going to wait it out by sitting here in Detroit, sipping a freaking Bloody Mary with my vessel while he loses pretty much all faith he may have had in me.”  When Sam’s expression softened, the Morningstar smiled meekly.  “I know I felt like you’re last hope, and I thank you for being willing to give me the benefit of the doubt for this, but there’s not much I can do, and what I can do you wouldn’t approve of.  This will all blow over in one direction or the other, and when it does I’ll be allowed to enjoy my newfound freedom in complete peace.”  For the first time, the Devil dropped his gaze, swirling the liquid around in its glass, eyeing the blood-like mixture intently.

Sam watched the movement with him, before moving his gaze up to the Devil’s face, trying and failing to read his expression.  Some small part of him feared that even the most genuine emotions that he had heard in the past hour or so - the serious tones and flicks of pained expressions - could not be trusted.  But a bigger part of him, the part that empathized with everyone he came across, wanted to give Lucifer the benefit of the doubt.  Castiel trusted him, and Castiel trusted that he was incapable of lying to Sam.  Perhaps the archangel really was just scared to lose his freedom again.

Sam cleared his throat.  “Cas… Cas told us that you didn’t know how to defeat Metatron.  That’s not true, is it?”

Lucifer looked up.  “He actually lied?  No, of course that’s not true.”

“But what you can do, you think I wouldn’t approve of.”

“Certainly not.  And Dean would approve even less.”

Leaning forward, Sam folded his hands on the table.  “Dean’s not here.  At this point, I’m open to almost anything.”

The Morningstar continued to swirl the liquid in his glass.  “Metatron is not a particularly powerful angel.  At the moment he’s probably the most powerful, but he got there by way of cunning - and no shortage of luck - not by strength.  He’s not an archangel.  Unfortunately, neither am I.”

Sam quirked his head.  “You were an archangel the last time I met you.”

Lucifer laughed once.  “The last time you met me I was still inside you.  And that’s the thing; outside of my true vessel I’m not at full strength.  I finally stabilized this form so I wouldn’t rip it apart, but that was a difficult and exhausting ritual that I don’t care to ever repeat, and it still left me mostly powerless.  Up in Heaven I could defeat Metatron no problem, but the chance of defeating him is still greater down here.  Besides, I’m not in any rush to go back home.”

“Not even if it meant being welcomed back as a hero?”

Lucifer’s smile turned melancholy.  “The angels would never welcome me back.”

“Cas did.”

Leaning back in his chair, the Devil’s eyes sparkled.  “Castiel is unique.  I can’t even say that he’s unique like me, because he’s not like me.  He’s… Passionate.  There’s no other word for it.  His loyalty and passion are like fire, especially in the way they often burn him.  There’s never been another angel quite like him.  And it’s why I know that no other angel would accept me as their liberator.  But I think they would accept him.”

“He said that he’s not strong enough to defeat Metatron on his own.”

“And he’s right.” 

“But you would be strong enough,” Sam tensed as he considered his words, “With your true vessel you would be strong enough to take on Metatron.  That’s the way you can help that you think I won’t like.”

Lucifer regarded the younger Winchester.  “When connected with my true vessel I could snap Metatron in half like a twig.  But I respected you far too much to even offer that solution.”

Sam blinked twice.  “You… Respected me?”

Mirroring his vessel’s position, Lucifer leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table.  “Four years ago, I bet a fiddle of gold against your soul that I was better than you, and I believed it.  I believed that my conviction, my desire for revenge and my hatred of humanity was stronger than your will towards freedom.  You proved me wrong, Sam.  And so when you three came to me for help, I respected your strength of heart too much to suggest possessing you.  Your brother would have been furious and you would have immediately shot me down, just as you always did, usually with a good amount of resentment.  Which, for someone as inclined towards freedom as you, I do not blame you for.”  He relaxed again.  “And let’s just say that I have a better appreciation for freedom now.”

Sam quirked a smile.  “Oh yeah?”

“Like I said, I always had the apocalypse to look forward to.  When you jumped in to the pit, I thought for sure I was never getting out again.  I’m not gambling with it this time.”

“But you’re saying that you could kill him.”

“For the third time, yes.”

“And you have a better appreciation for freedom now.”

“Again, yes.”

“So you’d let me go afterwards, right?”

Lucifer gaped at him.  “What?”

Sam tensed, then rolled his shoulders.  “If I… let you in… so you could kill Metatron, would you let me go once you did?”

Lucifer exhaled a stunned breath.  “You’re really determined, aren’t you?”  Sam just nodded solemnly.  “I don’t think Dean would approve of this plan.”

“It’s not Dean’s choice,” Sam said gravely.

“Truer words have never been spoken.  But I’m not sure you’ve thought this through.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for longer than you think I have.”

“You’re asking the Devil if you can trust him.”

“Cas trusts you.”

Lucifer stopped.  “…Does he?”

Sam frowned.  “You didn’t know that?”

The Morningstar ran a hand through his hair.  “I guess.  It’s one thing to assume it, another entirely to actually hear it, y’know?  That was not something I accomplished overnight.”

The Winchester smiled.  “Yeah, I get that.  Not that you can blame him for not trusting you right away, though.”

“Of course I don’t, hence why I was so determined to prove myself.  Which is why I’m stunned I don’t need to prove myself to you.  For the second time you have completely amazed me, Sammy.”

“Cas trusts you, and that’s a good starting point for me.  And despite everything, you never did really lie to me before.  I’m assuming that you still won’t.  So, if I were to let you in so you could kill Metatron, would you let me go?”

Lucifer clenched his jaw before admitting honestly, “I wouldn’t want to.”

“But _would you?_ "

“…It would be worth it.”

With an air of triumph, Sam tipped his beer to the angel and gulped the rest of it down.  Lucifer did the same, his movements a bit hollow with shock.  When Sam stood, Lucifer unfolded a few bills from out of nowhere and they exited the bar together, the air between them riddled with nerves. 

“This isn’t something you have to agree to tonight, you know,” Lucifer said hastily as they walked, “I think it would be within your best interests - and mine, now that I think of it - for you to at least mention this to Dean.”

“Dean would freak out and try to find a way to stop us,” Sam denied.  “He wasn’t too thrilled about going to you for help at all, but this?  He’d probably lock me in the dungeon to keep me from doing this.”  He focused on kicking a pebble into the road, watching it skip across the pavement.  “It’s worth it.”

“Worth the risk?”

“Is there a risk?”

“There’s always a risk with every decision you make, Sam.”

Sam chuckled.  “Okay Ghandi.  Look, I’m gonna be honest, I don’t completely trust you.  But I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt if it means getting rid of Metatron for good.  Because right now, you’re literally the only option that I can see.  So if all it will cost me is, what, a few days of being a vessel again, then I’ll take it.”  He considered a moment.  “Unless there were some other conditions that you haven’t told me about.”

Lucifer raised his hands.  “No tricks here.  I’d say it balances out: a chance to reunite with my vessel again for a few days and all I’ve got to do is a little pest control.”  He regarded the taller man.  “You’re absolutely sure about this though?  Metatron will put up a fight, and he’s knowledgeable enough about spells and dark magic to mess with an angel’s vessel.  There are spells I cannot protect you from without certain preparations.” 

Sam stopped  to looked at him.  “So prepare for them.  I’ll stick around here for a while and call Dean to tell him that I’m out chasing a lead.  You go do whatever you need to to protect us from any spells that Metatron might use.  You’ll be able to find me if I go get a motel, right?”

“Of course.”

“Alright.”  Sam shifted his weight, then steeled himself and made for the motel sign he saw a few blocks away.

“Sam,” Lucifer called after him.  The Winchester turned to look.  “While I’m gone, make sure you think long and hard about this, alright?  Just do me that favor while you still haven’t said yes.  Because once you do, you’ll be riding in the back seat until this is all over.”

Sam nodded strongly, and with that, the Devil was gone.  Setting his shoulders, he turned around again to make for the motel, only slightly surprised to find that money had materialized in his pockets when he got there.

[xxx]


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has taken so long and I'm out of excuses that don't sound like "I've been so busy with classes." Just know that I haven't forgotten about this but yes I'm hella busy with classes. New school, new schedule, new expectations, new stresses, new busy.

Lucifer took his time in collecting the necessary ingredients for the protection spells, allowing Sam time sleep on his decision.  The following morning, he knocked politely on the Winchester's motel door.  Smiling up at his vessel, he waited to be waived in before entering the small room.  

Sam observed in relative silence as the Morningstar prepared the spells.  In terms of the recipes, the spells seemed very simple, but Lucifer explained how rare and difficult to find each individual ingredient was and how fortunate they had been that he still had a few stashes of them left.  Dragon blood, scrapings of unicorn bone, Leviathan black matter, the eye of a powerful witch, raithe tears, ferns from the garden of Eden (for which Sam gave Lucifer a shocked look.  Lucifer, in turn, just shrugged), two angel feathers from Lucifer’s own wings, and scales from some species of deep-sea fish that went extinct some two million years ago, all ground together in a bowl crafted from volcanic rock on a table riddled with various holy symbols.

Lucifer wiped his brow after the mixture was almost ready.  “The last ingredient,” he said somewhat cautiously, “Is the bone marrow of whoever is in need of protection.”  He watched Sam carefully for a reaction.

With an arched eyebrow and a shrug, Sam asked, “How big of a needle is that?”

Lucifer smiled.  “No need, just give me your hand.”  

The Morningstar clasped his vessel’s hand within his own.  Sam felt an odd sensation creep up his spine, then slowly spread through his extremities before receding.  Then the archangel moved away and circled his hands above the bowl, where Sam saw a yellow, viscous liquid drip into the mixture.  With a flick of his wrist, the Devil stirred the mixture until it was a smooth yet unappetizing dark brown.

“Please don’t tell me I’m drinking that,” Sam joked.  His smile fell at Lucifer’s apologetic glance.  “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.”  

“Sorry Sammy.  Old school magic right here.”  Lucifer lifted the bowl to his lips, whispered an incantation in a language Sam did not recognize, and then it to him.  Sam cocked his head, and with only a moment’s hesitation, tipped it back.  Lucifer swallowed his amusement as the unpleasant mixture twisted his vessel’s expression.  
Sam shuddered after downing the last of it.  “Now what?”

“Now you say yes, whenever you’re ready.  If I know Metatron - and I do - then there are only two spells he’d choose from to eject me from the cockpit and that sludge you just drank will protect us from both.”

Sam turned to regard the archangel, and waited until Lucifer had mirrored him to ask, “You’re one hundred percent certain you can defeat Metatron no problem?  And you promise that as soon as you’re done you’ll get out?”  Two nods in succession were the answer.  Sam frowned.  “Say it.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Lucifer said, “As soon as I’m done, I’m done.”

The younger Winchester exhaled a long, nervous breath.  “Okay.”

“Can’t be ‘okay,’ it has to be -”

“Yes, then.”

“Once more with feeling.”

“Listen you ass -”

“There’s a signal as soon as I have permission to enter but I’m only at one bar.  Once more with feeling.”

The Winchester pulled himself to full height, preparing for the less than pleasant sensation he knew from experience would come next.  “Yes.”

The vessel saw light, and then he became it.

**[xxx]**

Castiel jolted to attention when he felt it.  The sensation was small, just a candle flame in the back of his consciousness, but it was there.  And it meant trouble.

“Dean,” he called as he sought out the hunter in his bedroom.  

The sleeping human mournfully snuffled himself awake.  “Cas, we’ve talked about this.  Me.  Sleep.  4 hours at least.  I need my 4 hours.”

“An Archangel has just bonded with his vessel.”

Dean was awake now.  “What?”

“When an Archangel enters his vessel it is a miracle in and of itself, all angels can feel it.  And I felt it two minutes ago.”

Dean sat up, all sleep gone from his voice and replaced with a slow-building mania.  “How is that even possible?  Two of them are dead, one of them’s MIA and the last one doesn’t have access.”

Cas hesitated.  “Sam has not yet returned from his walk.”

“What do you mean?”

“He went for a walk last night and never returned.  Lucifer… Was meant to visit me yesterday but he never showed.”

Dean stood up, fists clenched, and moved to throw on his clothes.  “Don’t even say it.”

“Dean, if Lucifer somehow convinced Sam to -”

“He wouldn’t, alright?  We talked about this, him and me.”

“Lucifer’s a very good talker, Dean, and Sam has a habit of letting people talk.  If he convinced Sam to let him in then -”

“Then I’ll kill him, that’s what.”

Castiel grabbed Dean’s shoulder to spin him around.  “Dean, listen.  Before you hunt him down with an angel blade and demand that he vacate the vessel, just think.  An Archangel has been reunited with his vessel.  He’s at his full potential now.  He could break through the very gates of Heaven and kill Metatron once and for all.”

The Winchester shoved him off.  “Yeah and you really think that’s the freaking Devil’s reasons for suddenly having interest in his vessel again?  He’s been refusing to help us for months, what makes you think he’d change his mind now?”

“He’d change his mind _for Sam,_ for the chance to be with his one true vessel again.  He has the current one stabilized but it limits him.”

Dean rounded his friend to get to his weapons mounted on the wall.  He packed them in to a bag as he spoke.  “Yeah, exactly.  He wants the big guns back.  I bet he was planning this all along.  Deny us help so that Sam would come to him alone, then strike a deal to get back in and wham!  Apocalypse Mark II.  No other Archangels to stop him now, just Metatron, who yeah is basically a sitting duck now, but that’s not the point.  We’re trading a big problem for an even bigger problem Cas.  But not this time.”

“Dean, he isn’t like that!”

“Do you hear yourself Cas?!”  Dean shouted.  It was the first time in a long time he had genuinely shouted at Castiel.  The angel paused.  The human’s arms began to flail and point and gesticulate as he ranted.  “You sound like some smitten teenager trying to convince mom and dad that her creep-ass boyfriend isn’t really that bad.  What do you think?  You think that just because you’ve been screwing him all across the world that you know what’s going on in his head?”

The angel’s jaw dropped.

“Yeah, I know all about that.  Didn’t say anything ‘cause I figured that’s your business.  But now that you’ve made it my business by letting it affect your judgement let me let you in on something: sex is the easiest ruse there is.  It doesn’t take much and it does all the work for you.  You get someone feelin’ good they’ll believe anything you say.  He’s been manipulating you.  He’s been manipulating all of us.  Which is exactly what I knew would happen but none of you ever freaking listen to me and I was outnumbered so I didn’t do anything.  But now I have to go clean up a mess that both you and Sammy made by trusting this sleezebag.”  The Winchester took two steps closer to Castiel to growl his next words in his face.  “And so help me God if I have to kill Sam to kill Lucifer, that’s on you.  His blood will be on you, not me.  You convinced him to trust freaking Satan and now it’s landed him right back where we were.”

"...Dean," Cas reached out.

"No man, not this time." Dean raced out of his room, bag of weapons slung over his shoulder. "We've come too far to backtrack like this.  We've lost too much to backtrack like this.  I ain't about to let my brother undo everything he did that day."

Cas stayed where he was, frozen in place by shock and disbelief, as he heard the great metal doors of the bunker screech open and slam closed behind his best friend.  Thoughts and doubts and emotions waged war in his head.  Could Lucifer have really done that?  Could he have manipulated them all so flawlessly in a way he had never bothered to last time?  It was true that last time he had not prepared for the Winchesters - or Castiel - to be such a threat.  Had Cas singlehandedly given him the advantage he needed to do it all over?"

"Lucifer," he pleaded aloud, reaching out through their link so that his brother might hear him, "Please don't be betraying us.  Please don't do this to me."

**[xxx]**

The Archangel smiled when he heard Castiel's plea.  Taking a deep breath, he corrected the stiff posture his Sam had taken for them before he granted his angel access.  "Here that, Sammy?"  He asked, voice projecting inward as well as out, "Cas is scared I'm going to betray him.  The poor angel just wants someone."  He cracked his neck.  "I hope you empathize with some of his struggles.  You and he are a lot alike, as are he and I.  We're quite the trio.  May we take a pit stop to assure Castiel that everything's going to be alright?"

_"He'll be with Dean,"_ Sam's voice tickled deep within the vessel's shared consciousness, _"It'll be better if we break this to him once it's already set and done."_

"Yes," The Morningstar agreed, "Wouldn't want him to pop a blood vessel with how much he'll no doubt be shouting at us.  Though I fear Castiel may have already alerted him to our current situation."  
 _"How could he know?"_

 "Lower form angels can feel when Archangels unite with their vessels.  It's classified as a miracle of nature."  He chuckled.  "A lot of pomp if you ask me.  Now then, shall we?"

Lucifer took a moment to appreciate the feeling of his wings as he stretched them.  How he missed feeling their full strength every time he made to fly, every time he thought of their weight on his back.  He turned his wrists and clenched his fingers as he flayed his feathers, marveling at the build of his human body and its meld with his wavelength form.  Each muscle group he took a moment to flex and admire as his wings remembered their true power, the power that would take him back to the home that had cast him out nearly 5,000 years prior.  

_"It wasn't as unpleasant this time,"_ Sam commented.

Lucifer tilted his head down and smiled.  "We weren't fighting for control this time.  It goes much smoother when the vessel is truly willing."

_"I feel more comfortable."_

Lucifer grinned.  "That was me.  Cooked up a little something for you while I was out gathering all the ingredients for the spell.  I never wanted you to be uncomfortable last time, and I don't want you to feel like a prisoner this time.  Just try to relax for this trip.  It'll be over before both of us know it."

_"...Thank you."_   His vessel's voice felt meek with reluctant gratitude.

"You're very welcome Sammy."  Taking a defensive stance, the Archangel readied himself for the approaching fight.  "Here we go then.”

**[xxx]**

The air around Castiel shifted unnaturally.  When he ran outside, he saw storm clouds brewing overhead.  But it was not a normal cold front, and the clouds were forming too quickly.  An angel was manipulating the weather.  It did not take Castiel long to figure out who and why.

“Dean!”  He jumped in to the passenger seat of the Winchester’s car just as Dean was pulling out in to the road.  The human flinched.

“Jesus, Cas,” He cursed, “What is it?”

“Lucifer is preparing a storm.”

“Yeah, you don’t freakin’ say.”

“I don’t mean metaphorically, I mean he is concocting a thunderstorm right now.  But not just here, everywhere.  I checked around the world; everywhere is covered in storm clouds.”

Dean groaned.  “Oh, perfect.”

“Yes, actually.”  Dean looked at the angel quizzically.  “I think he means to fight Metatron.”

“And he needs creepy worldwide cloud coverage for that?”

Castiel nodded.  “If the fight gets rough, the sky will alight with each blow they deliver to one another, but it would be visible throughout the world, not just in one isolated place.  The cloud coverage will make the flashes look like lightning.  He did the same thing the day he rebelled against our Father.”  

Groaning, Dean tapped his head against the steering wheel once.  “Great, just great.”

“You’re misinterpreting,”  Castiel clarified, “I don’t think he’s setting the Apocalypse back in motion.  I think this was Sam taking him up on his word.  He told us that he could defeat Metatron with his true vessel.  Sam must have taken matters in to his own hands.”

“Yeah and that’s why I’m freaking mad!”  Dean roared, accelerating faster.  “He let Lucifer in, man!  He said yes!  He thinks he knows better and maybe he’s a bit cocky that he can get control again but that was a long shot last time and he only needed control for a few seconds.  We don’t have any plan to get him out again because he wasn’t supposed to be riding shotgun in his own skin in the first place.  Sam has a problem of doing without thinking and trusting everyone to mean what they say, and apparently so do you.”  

He exhaled deeply, trying to reign in his anger.  Cas waited in nervous anticipation.

“You and Lucifer, you’ve got some sort of connection, right?  Outside of angel radio?”

“Yes,” Cas answered simply.  He could question Dean’s knowledge later.

“Then send him a message for me.  Tell him if he even thinks about hurting Sam or stickin’ around in his skin longer than it takes him to gank Metatron, he’s at the top of my kill list again.  And I will kill him this time, no matter what it takes.”

Anxiety fluttered in the angel’s chest.  Instead of delivering his friend’s threat, he said this, _“Dean knows what you’ve set out to do, brother, and he’s angry.  Do not hurt Sam Winchester.  If not for him, then for me.  Please just do what you have to and then return Sam Winchester.”_

  
When no answer returned to him for a second time, he truly began to doubt if he knew Lucifer at all.

**[xxx]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was super short but I felt bad about having it just sitting in my computer when it already felt complete. Leave a comment if you like, or don't, it's fine. Until the next time...


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell, did this chapter take long enough or what? I hope it's worth the wait. Thank you to everyone who has stuck it out with me this far and this long. Y'all are amazing.

In the end, it was almost disappointing.  Metatron's followers put up a bigger fight than Metatron himself.  Not that very many were loyal enough to actually stand up against Lucifer.  He did not kill Metatron's followers; easy though it would have been, he could hear Castiel's voice in the back of his head begging him not to.  Castiel would not be happy if he heard that Lucifer had killed unnecessarily.  So he incapacitated Metatron's dogs without killing.  

Metatron begged under Lucifer's heel.  Begged for the archangel to spare him in the name of their Father.  Smirking at him through Sam Winchester's lips, Lucifer had spat their Father's name in Metatron's face, declaring his loyalty to himself and himself alone (thinking of, but not mentioning, Castiel as the exception).  He used the might of his own Grace to smother the other's.  And then there was nothing but stillness.  No sound, no screaming, no mess, not even the scorch marks of burned wings, just a quick flash of light and then the stillness of Heaven.  

Lucifer smiled at the weight of the angel blade tucked inside Sam's jacket.  No need for that; his time in the pit had made him more creative, feeding off of the evil of the most twisted of human fantasies.  Interestingly enough, it was Castiel's own attempt at killing him that had inspired his method for disposing of Metatron.  It was a fact known well enough to him from all the souls that ended up in the accursed realm: the kindest people always found the cruelest ways to kill.  

When Metatron was vanquished and all his followers had fled to Earth, Lucifer took the time to walk around his old home.  He revisited a few areas of significance; his old quarters, miraculously untouched, the training arena reserved for him and his brothers, the fountain, and the throne of God.  He kept his demeanor neutral as he regarded the great hall.  Even to him, the sight of the throne without its king was rare.

“See this Sammy?”  He asked aloud.  “Absent.  Just like yours.  The only things left that matter are the people we care about.  For you, that’s Dean.  For me, the only person I have left is Castiel.  I have killed Metatron, but the angels will still detest me, and I don’t blame them for this.  They will remain loyal to our Father.  But Castiel, for all his loyalty to God, still loves me.  He still considers me his brother.  And didn’t Dean do the same for you?  For all his loyalty to John Winchester, for all he held that man up on a pedestal when he never deserved it, and he hated you for wanting to leave, didn’t he take you back?  Every time?”  Emotions stirred in Sam’s head.  Lucifer felt their shared heart flutter with relief; Sam was beginning to understand.  He continued.  “This is why I need Castiel.  For all that he might hate the things I have done - and for all I may deserve that hatred - he still loves me.  And I need that.  I’m still an angel, we depend on the love of our brothers for stability.  He’s all I have.”

Lucifer peered back up at the throne.  Anger flooded his veins, turning his vision red.  “Forgive me, Sam,” the golden throne was bleeding, the room around them turning red and orange with the flames licking up the walls, “But I will not be losing that again.” 

[xxx]

Dean sat cross-legged on the motel bed, sharpening his hunting knife with a sharpening stone.  He had met with other hunters, discussed the situation with them, and asked for their help with preparing for the storm he was certain to come.  They had been hesitant, doubtful that Lucifer could really be free again, but some of them had offered their support and a few strategies that Dean decided to wait on mentioning would be completely useless.  He had denied Castiel audience during the meeting.  He didn’t think Cas was fit to be discussing Lucifer’s death.  

What a nightmare.  His brother was back to making rash decisions and his best friend was sleeping with the Devil.  He supposed it didn’t count as incest, but it was still gross.  After everything that the Devil had done, after everything the three of them did to stop him, and Cas was bumping uglies with the ugliest monster on earth.  Worse, he’d let it get to his head.  

It hadn’t taken much to figure it out.  Sam wasn’t one for sticking his nose in others business unless it was required for the work, but Dean was shamelessly nosy.  He needed to know everything about the people he associated with, because if he was going to stick his neck out for anyone, they were going to be worth it.  He turned his first encounter with Lucifer since the apocalypse over and over and over in his head endlessly.  The way he looked at Cas, the way Cas had looked at him, showed absolutely no spine whatsoever, the almost tender way Satan embraced him when Cas lost his balance… Something had been up between them.  So he watched Cas.  He came and went more so than usual, had frequent fits of not listening and staring off into space, he understood innuendo, at one point left with his coat and returned without it.  Dean knew that last symptom better than anyone.  Cas was getting laid.

Admittedly, Lucifer was a guess.  A very good guess, one Cas had confirmed by not responding when Dean shouted at him for screwing him all around the world.  That was the moment he knew for certain; before that it had all been speculation.  Now, though, he knew, and now he was furious.  If he had stepped in sooner maybe he could have prevented Cas from getting brainwashed by his dick, but now it was too late.  Cas may have been in his vessel for a long time, but emotions and sex were tricky things that people themselves had no control over.  Someone who didn’t ordinarily feel love or sex - whatever his thing with Lucifer really was - was completely hopeless.  Now, Dean doubted his ability to get through to Cas.  Which meant he didn’t trust Cas.  Which meant Cas was not a part of the mission.  End of story.

With one final, convicting stroke of the stone across the blade, Dean wiped the metal off and set it aside, no calmer than he was before beginning the ritual.  He was worried about Sam.  Stupid, naive, reckless, rash Sam.  How could he make a decision like that without including his older brother?  Oh yeah, because he _knew_ it was a stupid decision, and he _knew_ Dean would have objected - which he would have - so he went ahead with it without consulting anyone else.  Ten freaking years of hunting together on their own and the boy still had not learned.  

The door handle turned; Dean instinctively reached for the nearest weapon, the knife he had just finished sharpening.  The door opened.  Sam walked in.

Dean felt his whole form go numb.  “Sam?” He asked.

Sam’s expression was hard to read as he awkwardly shut the door behind him.  “Yeah, it’s me.”  He fidgeted, like he always did when he was prepping for an argument.  “Uh… If you’re all the way out here I’m going to assume Cas figured it out and told you.  What I did, I mean.  Where I’ve been.”

Dean clenched his jaw.  “Yeah, he did.”

Sam averted his eyes.  “I know what you’re gonna say, that it was dangerous and-”

“Save it, man,” Dean interrupted, louder and sharper than he’d intended.  He tried relaxing his throat.  “We’ve had this conversation so many times it’s freaking boring.  Just tell me what happened.  Did he do it?  Is Metatron out?”

Sam smiled a little, met Dean’s eyes again.  “Yeah, he did.  It didn’t even take that long, really.  Metatron wasn’t all that strong a fighter, just clever.”

Nodding, Dean stood up.  “And is he out?  Are you you right now?”

Sam nodded.  “It’s me.  I made him promise.  He can’t lie to me, so I made him promise that he’d get out as soon as Metatron was dead.”  

With a slight loll in his step, Dean crossed the room to fish an angel blade out of his duffel bag.  “So, just to put my mind at ease, would you mind handing over your wrist for a quick humanity check?”  He held the knife up to catch the light of the dull motel lamps.  “Cuz frankly man, I’m tired of us hashing it out every time one of us makes a decision behind the other’s back.  If you’re really you, and this all went smoothly, I’m too goddamned tired from worrying about you to fight about it.  So if you’re really you, you won’t mind if I cut you with this just to make sure, right?”

Sam chuckled lightly, his eyes softening.  “Hell, if it means we get to skip the drama, then yeah, what’s the harm.”  He rolled up his sleeve and offered it to Dean.  Dean, gripping Sam’s wrist none too gently, dragged the sharp blade across his brother’s skin.  Blood trickled out of the wound, no burning, no bright light, no reaction other than a wince of pain.  

Satisfied, Dean wiped the blade off on his own sleeve, then immediately embraced his brother.

“Don’t.  Ever.  Do that again.”  He had to stand on his toes to reach around Sam’s neck; kid was too damn tall.  Sam leaned in to the hug so Dean could stand normally.  Dean was quivering from head to toe.  “I’m serious, man.  Next time punch me until I listen to you if you’ve got a plan like that.  It would hurt a lot less than how much I’ve been worrying about you.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam offered.

“I was back in that field again,” Dean let go of Sam so he could wipe the stupid tears out of his eyes.  He started pacing.  “I was getting ready to _kill you.  Again._ Do you have any idea how hard it was that first time?  I couldn’t do it.  I dropped the knife.  And he… and then you…”  He tried to recompose himself.  “Never again, okay?  I’ve got a feeling we’ll be seeing him again, especially if he keeps hanging around Cas.  Just don’t put me in that situation again.”

Sam nodded, still ignoring his bleeding arm for the moment.  “I promise.  I’m sorry you were so worried.  But I needed to get this done.  I was tired of having no plan.  Everything’s fine now.  We won.”

Dean cocked his head, a sly grin spreading across his features.  “Yeah, well, I could use a drink, how ‘bout you?”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed, “Maybe a band-aid, too, if we even have any.”

Dean crossed into the kitchen.  Sam heard the clink of glasses and the thud of a heavy bottle.  “What the hell’s a band-aid?”

“Good question.”  They sat together at the small, off-white motel kitchen table.  Sam held his wound with one hand to stop the bleeding.  Dean offered his glass in a toast.  

“To Metatron: good freaking riddance.”  

With a huff of silent laughter, Sam touched his glass to his brother’s and took a small sip.  The irony of drinking a blood thinner while waiting for a wound to finish bleeding was not lost on him.  He noted Dean’s similar small sip, and was relieved to see a sign that Dean’s dependence on alcohol was shrinking each day.  The bunker as a permanent home had been good to both of them.  Still, there was something oddly charming about being back in a three-star motel room for a night.  Their lifestyle came with an odd definition of “charming.”

“So,” Dean ran his index finger around the rim of his glass as he spoke, not making eye contact with Sam.  “Lucifer, where is he?”

Sam shrugged.  “Not sure.  We were in Heaven, he killed Metatron, then I was back on the ground.”

Dean’s eyes rose suspiciously.  “Just like that?”

A beat, then a small nod.  “Yeah, Dean, just like that.”

“And you don’t find that the least bit suspicious?”

“I would have last time around.  Something about him seemed different this time.  I don’t know, he said he cared about Cas and I believed him.”

Raising his eyebrows, Dean adjusted his position in his char.  He took a larger gulp of his drink.  “Yeah, speaking of, are you aware of just how close they are?”

Sam’s brow furrowed.  “How do you mean?”

“I mean really close.  Like, they know each other in a _very_ Biblical sense kind of close.”

It took a moment for the euphemism for click.  Sam’s eyes widened just a little.  “Seriously?  Are you sure?”

Dean set his glass down with a resolute thud.  “Positive.  Cas confirmed it.”

Sam collected himself and huffed.  “Wow, I mean, did he tell you himself or did you figure it out?”

Dean could not contain his self satisfaction.  He straightened his back as he spoke.  “I know what it looks like when someone’s getting laid.  Lucifer was a bit of a guess but when I called him out on it he said they were.  I still can’t believe it.  I don’t know whether to be disgusted or happy for him.”

Sam’s head cocked marginally.  “You would be happy for him?”

“Happy in the sense that he’s getting some, not because of who he’s getting some from.  I wish it were anyone else.  Literally anyone else.  Hell, I’d be more comfortable with him screwing _you._ Anyone but that monster.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed as Sam shrugged and took another sip of his drink and sunk into his chair.  Something was causing his guard to rise but he could not figure out what.  Perhaps it was the mental image of Castiel and Lucifer having a physical relationship.  Perhaps it was the scarier thought of Castiel honestly caring for the Devil.

“What about you?” Dean continued, trying to keep the images from invading his conscious thought.  “What do you think?”

Sam sighed.  “Honestly man, I’m too tired to have an opinion right now.  Maybe I’ll be more grossed out after I’ve had a chance to rest.  Being a vessel is exhausting, even if there wasn’t much of a fight.”

Dean smirked.  “So Metatron ended up being a daisy, huh?”

“A beggar, too,” Sam breathed into his glass.

Sam detailed the events, what he remembered after saying yes, how Lucifer fought sparingly and killed Metatron in a strange way.  He wasn’t sure exactly what Lucifer did, but it used so much energy that even he felt the effects.  The brothers laughed about how pitiful Metatron had been in the end.  When push came to shove, he was a coward, not a warrior.  Sam remarked that may have been why he was nothing but a scribe, when angels were meant to be ‘warriors of God.’  

The door burst open.  Dean instinctively reached for his weapon.  Castiel emerged from the doorway, breathing heavily.

“Cas?”  Dean stood, “What’s wrong?”

“The storm has dissipated, but I fear something may have gone wrong,” he stopped to catch his breath, miming the motions he had seen the Winchesters perform many times for the act.  Suddenly he understood the need to hunch over to breathe.  “I have not seen any angels return to Heaven, and I have not heard from Lucifer.”

“Maybe he stayed in Heaven,” Dean said cautiously.  “Personally I don’t give a damn where he chooses to nest as long as he stays out of my hair.”

“He can’t return to Heaven.”  Castiel looked up, noticed Sam’s presence for the first time, and stopped.  His complexion paled.  He straightened his back.

Dean shifted his weight to a defensive stance.  “Cas?  You okay?  You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Lucifer,” Cas almost sounded afraid, “Lucifer, you didn’t.”

“What?”  Dean asked.  Then he noticed Castiel was looking straight at Sam, as if addressing him.  “Cas, what’s wrong?”

“You promised to vacate the vessel,” Cas’s voice was heavy with despair, “You promised me you would let Sam Winchester go.”

Dean looked at Sam, his mouth agape.  Sam was smiling.  But it wasn’t Sam.  The glint in his eyes, the power in his muscles as he stood, all fatigue suddenly gone; it was never Sammy.  Dean lunged for his angel blade, but it disappeared out of thin air before his hand could grasp it.  

Lucifer - wearing Sam’s skin - closed the distance between himself and Castiel with confident strides.  “I am sorry for deceiving you, brother,” He said smoothly, running a hand through Castiel’s raven hair, “And in a way I am sorry for deceiving young Sammy as well.  But I never promised.  I would never break a promise.”

“Yeah?  Neither do I, and I promise I’m going to kill you if it’s the last thing I do you sunovabitch!”  Dean roared.  He flung himself at the Devil, knowing all too well that an attempt at physical assault was futile but even if he could land one good swing it would make him feel a lot better.  Lucifer threw up a hand and stopped him without touching him.  He did not throw the Winchester, merely kept him at arm’s length.  All of his attention was fixed on Castiel.

“Don’t you understand, Cas?”  He asked.  “That vessel, the borrowed one, it could never sustain me.  It made me weak, it limited me.  I could not remain for all eternity with you in that vessel.  I can now.  And if you have to see me as a face for the rest of our lives, isn’t this one much nicer to look at?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Cas stuttered.

“Cas,” Lucifer grinned, “You’re fallen now.  You’re allowed to be prideful.  Vain, even.  Don’t tell me you don’t think we look good.”  

Cas shook his head.  “No, you told me you wouldn’t do this.”

“And I meant it.  But that was before.  Now that I’m here, now that I’m able to breathe again, how could I go back to another borrowed form?  The old one was destroyed the moment I left it.  It took so long to stabilize that one, so many demons slaughtered, I don’t know if I’d be able to do it again.  I did this for you, Castiel, so we could be together.”  He leaned down to place the softest kiss on Castiel’s lips.  “Do you not want me anymore?  Do you not love me anymore?”

“I do, Lucifer,” Cas’s voice broke, “But, like this?  Why must it be like this?”

Lucifer straightened his back again, looking down at his brother with cold conviction and warm affection burning simultaneously in his eyes.  “Because it was always going to be like this.”  And then he was gone.  

Dean stumbled and fell when the hold on him released.  When he picked himself up, he was red with fury, and he directed it all at Castiel.

“Dean, I had no idea he would -”

“Save it!”  Dean yelled, louder and more ferocious than he had ever yelled at the angel.  “Just freaking save it!  I don’t want to hear it, I don’t want to hear you defend him or yourself or Sam anymore with this!  I _told you,_ a liar like him will never stick to his word, he was planning this the whole time.  You honestly believe the crap he was saying just now?  How he had no intention of staying in Sam’s skin until after he got there?!  BULLSHIT, man!  _This_ was his game all along.  Get you _and_ Sam to trust him so Sam would let him in, play you both for sentimental fools so he could have the world at his mercy!  No God, no angels in Heaven, he’s free to do whatever the _Hell_ he wants with the world and you know what?”

He strode angrily in front of Cas until there were only inches separating them.  “It’s all on you.  Whatever he does, however he fucks up the world now, it’s all on you, Cas.  _You_ let him in, _you_ got it in Sam’s head he could be trusted, now the blood of everyone he kills just because he can will be your damn fault.”  He turned toward the bedroom to pack up every weapon he had.  “Now I have to go out there, hunt down my brother, the person I love more than anyone else on this godforsaken shithole of a planet, the person I swore to protect when I was four years old for the rest of my life, and kill him, and that’s on you, you son of a bitch.”

Cas felt his guilt and shame weighing on him, cementing him where he stood as he watched Dean move about the bedroom through the crack in the door.  Helplessness, that was the word.  He felt helpless.  “Dean, please…”

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Dean pushed past the angel, bumping shoulders with him intentionally as he passed.  “Get the Hell out of here, Cas,” He growled, “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of my way, because right now I’ve got a mind to gank you, too.”  The door of the motel room slammed shut behind him.

Castiel’s head lowered in shame.  Something warm and wet tickled his cheek; he collected the tear on his finger and eyed it strangely.  Such a human response to pain, to anguish, to failure.  An angel of God, a warrior of Heaven, was crying.

“No,” He said aloud, “Not an angel, not a warrior.  Not anymore.”

He dropped his coat to the ground, removed the tie from around his neck, and tossed it atop the heap.  He left the motel room, letting the door swing open behind him.  The night air was chilly, a sensation still new to him, and he welcomed it.  He welcomed the numbness on his face, the shiver down his spine, and he walked.  He was not sure where.  He knew Earth well, having toured it for centuries on end with his old Garrison, but he did not know it by foot.  He supposed now was as good a time as any to learn it the long way.  The human way.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the final chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with this from beginning to end. It's been a wonderful, fantastic journey writing this all these years. I hope the ending is satisfying. If it feels like I've left anything open ended please please please let me know and I'll be sure to add more chapters. I want everyone to feel satisfied in how it ends. Thank you all so much for your kind words and support as I've harrowed through this process.

In the coming months, Castiel learned more about what it meant to be human. His stolen body, its original inhabitant long since passed, had needs that could not be ignored. Hunger was much louder than thirst. He passed out from dehydration a few times, revived eventually by fortunate rainfall. Grooming became irrelevant, and he noticed that his hair and nails grew slower than a normal human. He wasn't human, not entirely. Though his Grace was gone, some whisper of his angel nature remained. He did not know what that made him.

Not an angel. Not human.

But alive, in some form or another. He could handle that.

He survived on his own, despite his disadvantage. Though loneliness was foreign to humans and impossible for angels, he took care of himself and his body. He ate, and drank, and slept, and urinated, and defecated, and basked in the sunlight whenever he came across a clearing. He never stayed in one place for long. He avoided roads, unless they ran along a river. The trees protected him from too much sunlight, and rain. Thousands of years as a protector of the Earth guided him. He knew where he was. When the temperatures dropped, he turned South, towards warmer climates. Fires warmed him at night, shade kept him cool during the day. Against all odds, he survived.

Dreams. Dreams were another new sensation. Of all the human behaviors and experiences towards which Castiel had begun to adjust, dreams were the one he was uncertain he would ever fully understand. He watched the Winchesters sleep many times, and other creatures too, he heard their hearts beating and watched their eyes move and knew that the brain was anything but idle during this time. He also knew, objectively, of the existence of dreams, because he heard humans talk about them and pray for them for eons. But he had never experienced them himself until his Grace was stolen, and he, too, had to take part in the nightly ritual of slumber. He did not know if the dreams really belonged to him, seeing as it was his vessel’s brain and not his own that produced them. But they were there, and they felt so real. He had trouble distinguishing them from reality at first, but he figured it out. They were not too unlike his hallucinations during his stay at the mental asylum. 

Asylum. He liked that word. It meant shelter or protection from danger. Heaven acted as an asylum of sorts, a place for pure souls to escape the harrows of the physical world. At least it used to be. To humans it meant protection from war, aid in the case of illness. Ever since the word had been assigned to hospitals for the mentally ill, it had taken on a somewhat negative connotation. He rarely heard it used in any other context after mental asylums became widespread. If one needed asylum, one was insane. Asylum was for those who were deeply troubled, sometimes even dangerous. The mentally sound feared mental hospitals.

Castiel knew what mental asylums really were. They were places of peace, of sound mind. Not all were perfect, many were gateways to Hell for the egocentric and sadistic doctors that made their patients worse rather than better, but for the pure ones, the true caretakers, their Heavens were always special.

At first his direction was irrelevant, but with time he longed for a place to call home. He turned his feet in the direction of the only place left that had made him feel safe. With a bit of clever charm - skills he now unashamedly accredited to his time with Lucifer - he landed himself a job as a launderer in the asylum that once housed him. He had no medical skills to speak of and did not want to risk harming the delicate minds of the patients, but he could help care for them by keeping them clean. Cleanliness, he knew, was integral to human personal comfort. He still was not entirely clear on why, but cleaning rituals in one form or another were found across all human cultures all throughout their brief history. So he kept their beds clean, and occasionally helped the orderlies with bathing the patients who could not manage it themselves.

He felt like their shepherd again. He knew he was not, could never be again, but he felt a purpose. Here, in this place, he had meaning, as he had when he was a patient. That marvelous feeling that made his Grace burn when he had one, the satisfaction of a caretaker, a shepherd, he felt it again, in a slightly different form and a slightly different place.

He had always marveled at hospitals. 

At the end of his shift, he wandered the grounds as he had done before, watching the bees perform their incredible tasks. When it came time for night to fall, he would retire to his bed in the basement of the asylum, a room leftover from before the basement housed the laundromat. Until then, however, he marveled at the honey bees and their remarkable lifestyle.

In his peripheral vision, a figure approached. He peered up to see Lucifer, clad in white from head to toe, save for a red pin in the shape of angel wings on the breast of his jacket. Sam Winchester’s face smiled lovingly at Castiel, though a hint of sadness glistened in his eyes.

“Castiel,” The Archangel said, “It’s been a while.”

“Sam,” Castiel replied curtly.

Lucifer’s smile fell. “It was never my intent to deceive you, brother,” He said honestly, “But after so long in that other form, I had forgotten what it felt like to be comfortable. Now, reunited with my vessel, I no longer feel constricted, or ready to tear the flesh apart at any minute. I can really enjoy the world now, like I never could in my angel form. The sights, the sounds,” a smirk pulled at his lip, “The sensations.”

“Yes, well,” Castiel huffed and turned on his heel, “Have fun with that.”

The Devil grabbed his arm. “Castiel, please.”

Cas shook his arm free. “You have your true vessel back, and nothing I said was going to stop you from taking it. I asked you to leave Sam Winchester alone, you did not. I told you my friendship with Dean was important to me. Now, he thinks I led you to Sam, and that I am to blame for his brother being lost. And he’s not wrong. You tricked me, you betrayed me.”

Lucifer reigned in his frustration. He let his sorrow show through. “I never meant to hurt you, truly. I only wanted for us to be together. Haven’t you enjoyed my company? Have I not been a brother to you?”

Castiel turned his back again. “I don’t want your company anymore.” 

Under his feet, Lucifer was certain the Earth had stopped spinning. “Cas…”

“I can smell it on you, Lucifer. You’re going to kill them. In your true vessel none can stop you. Especially not me. If you’re going to destroy humanity, you’re going to do it without me. I will not help you destroy them.”

“Think of it as healing the planet. Cas, you’re not blind. You know what they’re doing. This planet does not only belong to them. It belongs to all of God’s creations, and they’re destroying it. How many species have gone extinct from deforesting, and poaching? Wonderful, brilliant, beautiful animals that have as much right to this world as them. More so, even, because they never turned a cruel hand to it. This world is dying, brother, won’t you help me fix it?”

“I already have patients to aid.” When Castiel walked away, Lucifer didn’t stop him this time. He responded in a whisper, one he knew the other could hear.

“I will always love you.”

[xxx]

It took Lucifer longer than Castiel expected to begin his crusade. He was still connected to angel radio, somewhere deep in his psyche. He stopped listening early on. Partially because he felt he deserved isolation, partially because what he heard was too painful. Lucifer started his attack in China. Then the Koreas. Then Japan. Then he worked his way West, setting fire to every major city. The air itself burned in some places, thick and heavy with pollution. The body count rose. In his true vessel, with no other archangels to challenge him, he was all powerful. Omnipotent. No divine intervention met him as he methodically set fire to the world. Wars waged. Desperation and greed drove the city dwellers to aid the flames in their destruction, until nothing was left of man's most impressive structures but ashes and strays.

His hospital transferred its patients, closed its doors. He did not follow.

Rains followed the fires. Castiel avoided any smoke on the horizon. But he noted that it always seemed to be raining, and that the fires always remained contained to cities. Rural areas remained untouched by hellfire. And then Castiel stumbled into the first small town leveled by plague. Cats ran in the streets, deer grazed on unprotected lawns, loyal dogs rested by the sides of their deceased masters. The sight of that first plagued town brought him to his knees. He remained there the whole day, closing the eyes of any corpses that remained open. Humans did that. For centuries it was a sign of respect to close the eyes of the dead. Their customs and cultures and socialisms and superstitions would die with them. 

He prayed to a God he knew was not listening that Lucifer would finish quickly.

Castiel adjusted the collar of his muddied shirt. The further south he walked, the harsher the sun's rays stung his mortal skin. His arms itched and stung with the crude sigils he had carved into the flesh to ensure Lucifer could not find him anymore. He needed water again soon, but his travels had lead him away from the rivers. His memory told him Kansas City was nearby. Closer than the rivers, but possibly a pile of ash. With a weary sigh, he guided his feet towards what he hoped fruitlessly was still a standing structure.

Rubble and ash crunched under his feet. The sight made him certain of two things: that he would never stop hoping that the carnage would stop, and that he would never adjust to the sight.

“Lucifer, why,” he whispered. More to himself; he did not want the other to hear.

He walked in the city before concluding that he would not find water. A metal container sticking out of the rubble tripped him. Small and portable, he took it with him to use for water. The next source of fresh water might be his last for a while.

The walk to water was long and mostly uphill. Exhausted and sunburned, Castiel hastily tied a few branches together into a makeshift shelter, curled up and fell asleep. A fire was not necessary, the night was warm. It felt good to take his jacket off and use it as a pillow. He smelled of body odor, dirt, and a hint of ash leftover from the destroyed metropolis. The exhaustion in his soul outweighed the exhaustion of his body, and pulled him into a troubled, dreamless slumber.

Out of view, the Devil watched him sleep with a heavy heart.

[xxx]

When Castiel awoke, he knew that someone was watching him. He instinctually reached for the angel blade holstered at his side, until he smelled the air. His hand hesitated on the handle.

“I know you’re there,” He said aloud, tone firm despite his exhaustion.

Lucifer stepped into Castiel’s field of view, watched his brother rise slowly into a sitting position. “Hello, brother,” he said timidly.

“Don’t call me that,” Cas growled.

Lucifer frowned. “Back to rejecting that, are we?”

“No brother of mine would torch the whole planet.”

“It was necessary. The planet will heal itself, rise anew from the ashes. What’s left that the humans didn’t destroy will finally have a chance to flourish again. Don’t you remember the old world? Don’t you want it back?”

Cas’s gaze fell to his hands, folded in his lap. “I’m tired, Lucifer,” He confessed, “I’m so tired. I don’t know what to think, or feel, or want anymore. Sam and Dean were my center, my leaders, for so long, and now… I just don’t know anymore.”

Lucifer cocked his head, and slowly crouched in front of the younger angel. “Does it hurt you, that I took this form? Can you bare to look at me?” When Castiel met his eyes, Lucifer felt a wave of relief like he had never felt before. Relief stronger and warmer than when he sprung himself from his prison the second time. He knew his next words would be crucial to regaining his brother’s trust. “Castiel, I don’t want you to feel lost, or tired, or confused anymore. I know you are, because you’re an angel with no Grace and no Father but still not human, and now your only real friend in the world has rejected you and cast you out. Believe me, I know what you’re feeling right now. I remember when it happened to me, and oh my love, if there’s anything I can do to help you, I want to. Because I do not want you to feel the pain that I felt when God cast me out. Please let me help you.”

A single tear escaped Castiel’s eye. “How can you help me, Lucifer, how can anyone?”

Slowly, delicately, the Devil reached up to capture the tear on his thumb. His hand lingered on Castiel’s face as he spoke. “I can restore your Grace.” Cas’s eyes widened. “I mean it. Heaven is mine now. The angels that didn’t die in the fall were allowed to return home, but few did. And I understand why; I imagine having me home is jarring to them. But the Fountain is mine. I can restore your Grace, give you back your wings. Would that help you feel better?”

“Yes,” Cas choked out, desperation and relief choking him, “Yes, I would.”

Lucifer took his brother’s face in both hands now, and tucked the younger’s head into his shoulder so that he could sob. “You haven’t cried this whole time. It’s okay, Castiel. Cry all of your emotions out. You’ve always been so human, feeling so much even when you were God’s most loyal son. Cry now, Cas. When you’re finished, I’m going to make it all better again.”

And God help him, he would. 

[xxx]

Pain. So much pain. Hot, intense, searing pain. This wasn’t a quick dip in the Fountain like last time. Castiel was being unmade and remade, because that’s what had to happen for his Grace to be restored. Technically, when he had lost his Grace, it was replaced by a mortal soul. That soul was being torn to shreds, eviscerated by light and heat. Oh, it hurt. But he could not scream because in Heaven he did not have a real voice or body. For too long, all he felt was pain. And then the pain gave way to miracle, and Castiel was an angel once more. 

When Lucifer pulled him out of the Fountain, naked and glowing pure gold, he thought Castiel had never looked more beautiful. And then the light absorbed back into him, became a form of sorts, and the color of his wings shone through: jet black and tipped midnight blew, but with a deep crimson painting the axillars and bones beneath, an echo of Lucifer’s own coloring. Where they on Earth he would have shed tears at the sight of the gorgeous angel before him. He took Castiel by the shoulders, still supporting him while his Light structured itself.

“Cas,” he called, over and over while the other composed himself. “Cas, Cas.”

Finally, Castiel met his eyes. They were kissing before the Archangel even registered that Cas had moved. The kiss was fevered and desperate, and every bit as passionate as Lucifer had never dared allow himself to hope for. He kissed back with as much fervor, and in that moment if he could have joined their Graces together he probably would have. But that was dangerous, he knew, especially while Castiel’s new Grace was still cooling. In this state Castiel was actually more powerful than Lucifer, and an attempt to touch his Light to the other’s could easily become his own Grace being snuffed, swallowed by Cas. So he settled for licking into the younger’s mouth and lavishing his lips. Breathing was irrelevant in Heaven and he had never been so thankful for that.

Castiel gripped the lapels of Lucifer’s jacket, his hands almost as white as the fabric. Their foreheads rested against each other as Cas struggled to center himself. The Light slowly took a form.

“How do you feel?” Lucifer asked softly.

“Like an angel,” Castiel answered, his voice hoarse but firm.

Lucifer’s smile lit the room anew. “You are, my love, you are.”

“I feel… Everything. Brother,” Castiel fell limp in Lucifer’s arms. Not out of weakness, but out of gratitude. “Take me back to Earth.”

“Are you alright, young one?”

“Yes. There are other things I wish to feel right now.”

And the Devil laughed, and took the reborn angel to Earth so he could lavish him in such feelings for the entirety of the night.

[xxx]

Castiel did not think he would ever be used to sex. Thousands of years without taking physical form made each encounter with physical sensation almost overwhelming. Were he an inferior angel surely sensation would be too much for him. But he was not an inferior angel. He was a warrior again, all his strength and might returned to him thanks to the being that was currently in front of him ridding him of the clothes of his vessel. The soul of the vessel was in Heaven, but the physical form remained for him to pilot, and suddenly Castiel was capable of sin. With this form he committed acts of murder, and gluttony, and lies, and lust. But if that last one meant time with his brother, then who better to teach one to sin than the Devil himself? And oh, was Cas learning.

This time, he did not need instruction or patience. To Hell with patience, Castiel felt need and was done ignoring it. No sooner had Lucifer stripped him down did he return the favor. And then there was flesh against flesh, a different sensation than fabric against flesh, and much more alive. There was kissing - frantic, desperate kissing, wherever mouths could reach skin or the mouth of the other. Lucifer bit down on Cas’s shoulder, which elicited a yelp and then a pleasured gasp. Castiel felt himself walked backwards until a bed collapsed him at the knees. He had not registered his surroundings, and did not plan to until all his needs were satisfied. He trusted Lucifer to take care of them.

Sensation. So much sensation. Not just of his physical form anymore; he could feel Lucifer reaching out to him beneath the vessel, tickling him with light while peppering his flesh with kisses and playful nips. He wanted. Oh, Father did he want everything the Devil wanted to give to him then. He was pliant and willing, whatever Lucifer wanted as long as he did not stop. Fortunately the other showed no signs of letting up.

Lucifer’s hands explored Castiel up and down, gradually moving lower each time, until a slicked finger teased at Castiel’s entrance. Breathy gasps of “yes” and “please” were all Cas could manage in his overwhelmed state, but paired with his body language it was enough. First one, then two fingers worked him to prepare him. When Cas was ready, both physically and mentally, Lucifer entered him with a breath of “I love you” in his ear. Were he not so high on the pure energy of his rebirth, Cas may have disintegrated from the words. Instead they supercharged him with an energy unlike any he had felt before. Lucifer made a mental note to tell him it was sexual energy. He smiled at the thought of this making Castiel blush later.

Every thrust of Lucifer’s hips was a new sensation. With this coupling Castiel was feeling with his entire form. Not only the sensations where Lucifer was inside him, but in his legs wrapped around Lucifer’s back, his arms wrapped around Lucifer’s neck, the Devil’s own arms holding himself up and providing leverage to thrust, the tickle of his lover’s breath on his face, the sweat beading on his skin, his lover’s skin, so much skin. Cas wanted skin against skin forever.

Cas felt his orgasm building. It was coming too soon, but with the dilation of Lucifer’s pupils and the desperation of his thrusts he assumed that Lucifer wasn’t too far off either. “I’m close,” he managed through panting breaths.

“Yes,” Lucifer moaned, “Chase it, my love. I want to be the one to make you come.”

“You,” Cas panted, “Only you.”

“I love you, brother.”

At those words, Cas felt himself tip over the edge. White hot pleasure pooled in his gut and then spread like a wave up his torso and out to his extremities. Lucifer’s name spilled out his lips without conscious thought, loud and needy and oh so good. At the sound of his own name, Lucifer’s orgasm followed swiftly behind.  
“Lucifer,” Cas whispered.

“It’s okay brother,” Lucifer said, gently pulling Cas into an embrace. “Everything’s okay now.”

[xxx]

Dean Winchester was pissed. Those that knew him knew to stay away from him when he was pissed. Those that didn’t suffered his temper. He even shot someone in the foot when they wouldn’t get out of his way. He was on a mission, and he was going to see it through.

Lucifer had deep fried the planet. Cas was nowhere to be found. His brother Sam was gone, and either a puppet on strings or dead. Survivors of the hell fire quickly formed pockets of refugee camps all over the world. Dean never stayed in one place long. When he stumbled across demons, he captured them and tortured them for information. So far none of them knew where the Devil was. Or Castiel. If he could find Cas he had a better shot of finding Lucifer.

He yanked Meg’s knife out of his latest torture victim, the bastard demon and the vessel both extinguished. He wiped the blade and put it away. A tickle on the back of his neck told him he was being watched. He spun around and pulled his gun in one motion.

Meg smiled at him. “Dean freaking Winchester,” She said with a bubble in her voice, “How you been, man?”

“Don’t talk to me like you know me,” Dean growled, “Where the hell is Lucifer.”

She hummed. “I could tell you, but where’s the fun in that?”

He pulled out her knife. “Tell me, or I waste you too.”

“Dean Dean Dean. After everything I did for Cas in the hospital, I’d think we would be friends by now.”

“I don’t have any fucking friends, least of all a parasite. Tell me where Lucifer is or fuck the fuck off.”

“Alright alright,” She held up her arms. “I’m not sure you want to go see him, though. I’m sure he’ll be over the moon to see you, but I don’t think you’re going to feel the same. What with him riding around in your brother’s skin and all.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Sorrow flicked across her features, replaced as quickly as it came with a knowing grin. “I really don’t think you will.”

[xxx]

The church was abandoned long before Lucifer burned half the planet. Dean could see the years of neglect from the outside. He circled the place three times before choosing an entrance. No angels, no demons, no life that he could identify. He wasn’t so stupid as to walk in the front door, but he doubted the legitimacy of Meg’s tip. Why would the Devil be hiding out in an abandoned church in east bumfuck nowhere. He should be out celebrating his destruction. Shrugging his shoulders, Dean crawled through a human-sized crack in the wall and let himself in.

Dust and decay greeted him. Layers of dirt and waste permeated the air, the ground, the walls. Cracked, fallen stone littered the rows of broken pews, along with shards of broken glass from the once beautiful windows. All grays and browns, save for the colored light dancing through what remained of the stained glass. 

Dean slowly approached the front of the room, glancing over his shoulder this way and that, trying to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible. All was still, but Lucifer could appear at any minute. Dean was prepared to put up one hell of a fight. He held an angel blade in each hand.

When he reached the altar, he stopped. The sheet was probably white at one point in its life. Years of stains and dirt muddied its color, the open ceiling above facing it to extreme weathers and tears. Just when he was ready to call it quits, he felt a presence to his left.

He turned, blades raised and ready. Nothing greeted him at first, and then a white figure emerged from the shadows.

“Hello, Dean,” His brother said.

No, not his brother. Not Sammy. The Devil himself.

“Aren’t you a surprise.”

[xxx]

Poised, elegant, and oh so still, the archangel stopped in the doorway, just inside the light, giving Dean plenty of space. He smiled warmly. Dean, unsure of how to feel from all the overwhelming emotions, held his ground stiffly. 

“You’ve come a long way to see me, haven’t you?” Lucifer asked. 

“I came for Sammy,” Dean growled.

“Yes,” Lucifer said with a touch of what could only be described as sympathy, “It must be painful, speaking to me in this shape. But it had to be your brother. It had to be. Nonetheless, I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Dean.”

“I’m not afraid of you, you scaly son of a bitch. You deep-fried the planet!”

Based on his heart rate, Lucifer knew he was lying, but he let it slide. “Temporary. The fires will settle. And in their place, new life will grow. Why would I want to destroy this stunning thing, beautiful in a trillion different ways? The last perfect handiwork of God.”

“Oh save the ‘I love God’ crap. We both know you’re full of it. He’s gone, Michael’s gone, and now you’re taking full advantage.”

“I’m fixing what humanity broke,” irritation crept into Lucifer’s tone. “This world was perfect until the little hairless apes came along and dug, mined, cut, and bombed it to death. When the fires settle, the forests will take this planet back. Regrow. The earth will heal itself. I’m simply speeding up the process.”

“And in the meantime you make yourself the new God.”

“New God? No. No one could ever replace Him. I don’t want to be God. I want to be myself as I’ve always been. A loyal, loving son. And now, for the first time in eons, I don’t have to be alone.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean looked up to see Castiel, dressed in black from head to toe. Enormous black wings folded behind him trailed on the floor, the bones and tips of the feathers a deep blood red. Lucifer extended a hand to him, which he took. Lucifer embraced him from behind, planting a feather-light kiss on his cheek before looking to Dean and grinning. 

“Cas,” Dean breathed, “What the hell?”

“I found him trying to survive on his own as a mortal, restored his Grace, and in return he has pledged himself to me. Isn’t he beautiful, Dean?” Lucifer stroked one of Cas’s wings idly. “The red is new, and so gorgeous.”

“Cas,” Dean pleaded, “Please tell me you’re not throwing in your lot with him.”

“You abandoned him,” Lucifer snapped, “Cast him out for loving me. You made your choice. You chose to go it on your own. I believe you told him that if he knew what was good for him, he’d stay away from you. Well, congratulations Dean, you’re alone. He got on with his life, and when he had no one, he still had me. Isn’t that right, little one?”

Cas nodded and relaxed into the Devil’s touch. “I was lost. He found me. I was powerless. He made me a warrior again.”

Lucifer kissed his temple, his hair. “Yes, my love. You are reborn.”

“Well, go ahead then,” Dean growled, “Kill me.”

“Kill you?” Lucifer looked up. “No, no, Dean, I’m not going to kill you. With how slippery you are I’m sure you’d find a way back anyway. Death can never seem to keep a solid hold on you. Besides, part of Castiel will always be protective of you. I’ve hurt him enough. No, you get to live. With how domesticated most of humanity is, I’d say they don’t have much longer. They no longer know how to survive in the wild. But you, you’ll last. It’s what you always wanted, isn’t it? To be alone with your car and your gun. I’ve given you what you want. Everybody wins.”

“You’d better kill me right now,” Dean roared, “Or I swear, I will find a way to kill you. And I won’t stop.”

“I know you won’t,” Lucifer said, “I know you won’t kill Sam, either. He’s still in here. Trying desperately to claw his way out. He’s calling to you right now. You won’t kill me knowing that he’s still in here. Will you.”

Dean fidgeted, tensed and relaxed, shifted on his feet. But his legs wouldn’t cooperate, nor his hands to throw the blades. He knew throwing it would be futile. Lucifer was too fast. And it was two angels against one human. He couldn’t do anything.

“It’s like I told you all those years ago,” Lucifer hummed, “No matter what choices you make, whatever details you alter, we would always end up… Here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave any comments/constructive criticism. A simple "hey nice job" can go a long way." Thanks so much for reading!  
> 


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